What a Wonderful World
by thebondgirl
Summary: A new case has arrived, bringing with it every cop's worst nightmare: ruthless killers that are targeting cops...and their families. Don and Charlie must work together to catch the killers, before they themselves become the targets. COMPLETE
1. So It Begins

**A/N:** hey there everyone! yeah, it's pretty cool cause this right here was supposed to be a one shot about a case that the eppes brothers had just finished, complete with some brother bonding, but half-way through writing the intro, the idea morphed into a full fledged fic in my head, and so i couldn't help but run with it:):) r & r, and enjoy:):) -- cause there's plenty more to come:)

**P.S:** this chapter has been reposted now that i have a working spellchecker:)

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****Numb3rs: What a Wonderful World**

**By: thebondgirl**

**Chapter 1 - So It Begins**

Don's black SUV cruised down the dark, nearly empty campus road, the speed at which it was traveling clearly indicating the exhaustion of the one driving it. Trusting his mind's autopilot to kick in and take him where he wanted to go, he let his thoughts wander back to the events of the past week, going all the way back to Monday morning when the case had first arrived on his desk, the crisp manila folder that held it giving no indication of the troubles and hardships, both emotional and physical, that its contents were to bring about. The vehicle slowed even further as he recalled those days leading up to the present, and he sighed deeply, wearily at the memory.

The case had been built on the 'Jersey Cop Killers', or so they had been called, dubbed as such because New Jersey had been host to their first victims: seven patrolmen in the space of one week, each found with one bullet in the side of their heads, in addition to one in their chests, what was believed to be a killing duo striking at either the victim's home, or, to up the risk and thrill, just as they were coming off duty at the station.

They had wasted no time in moving on to their next city, upping the risk even further as they started going after not only police officers, but FBI agents as well, including in some cases the families of both types of law enforcement, choosing to strike in New York, then Miami, Las Vegas, and finally at long last, Los Angeles, right on the doorstep of Don and his team...and Charlie. The mere thought of everything involving Charlie over this last week made him wince openly, an inevitable pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. From the second that the first L.A. victims had been claimed, an FBI agent by the name of Brad Trenton along with his new wife, Don had been on edge, spending twenty-two hours of every day, and sometimes twenty-four, studying the clues left at the crime scenes, running down small leads where there were some to be found, and shuffling back to the layout room for another lead when the one that he'd chased had ended in a dead end. He'd of course involved Charlie after the first two days, knowing better than anyone that if there was a pattern to the otherwise seemingly random killings, his brother would be the one to find it, bringing this massacre to an end.

Suddenly unable to see the street clearly, Don pulled his vehicle to the side so that it hugged the curb, turning off the engine, leaving the key in the ignition as he sat back in his seat with a shaky sigh. Starring out his windshield, he saw the Math building of CalSci looming at the end of this street, a single light burning in the window of an office that Don had visited many times before. He shook his head, knowing beyond a doubt that the lone occupant of that cluttered office, a one-of-a-kind genius with once bright but now tired brown eyes, and a head covered in unruly curls was glued to the floor in front of his chalk-boards, scribbling equations onto their surfaces like a madman. He also knew that, thanks to him, that genius probably hadn't rested for days, probably hadn't stopped to eat since supper the previous night, and _definitely_ worked now with a heart full of worry, hurt, and determination, born of his big brother's words.

Don shook his head slowly, blinking at the tears of frustration and self beratement that burned the backs and corners of his eyes as he thought back to that Wednesday morning, wishing feverently and with heartfelt sorrow that he had never picked up that phone and dialled that number, wishing that he could have had a chance to change his mind about calling before his baby brother had picked up and accepted the job.

Closing his eyes tightly against the beginnings of a stress-induced migraine, Don remembered that Monday morning, remembered that first scene, remembered when this whole disaster had started, the things that had transpired since, wrapped his arms tightly around himself, and cried.

* * *

_Monday morning ( 7:00 A.M.) - One Week Earlier_

Don stifled a contented yawn with the back of his hand as he pulled his SUV off of the road and into the parking lot of L.A's FBI headquarters, quickly finding and occupying his given place near the door before killing the engine and carefully plucking his cardboard coffee cup out of its holder beside him to take a large, satisfying gulp to warm his insides. Just thinking about last night, the first night in three months that he'd had eight hours of sleep made Don smile broadly. Their caseload before yesterday had been ridiculously heavy, his team tackling file after file as it came along at an unstoppable flow that was hard for even them to keep up with. But somehow they had managed, and here he sat, grinning like an idiot out his windshield while he drank his coffee, feeling really entruly refreshed for once.

A light rapping on his window drew him out of his reverie and he turned his face to look out of it, removing his seatbelt and opening the door almost immediately when he saw who it was, snatching up his tie from his seat, along with his coffee, before shutting and locking the door and turning to face his visitor who bore an amused smirk at his upbeat demeanour.

"I take it somebody had a good sleep last night," Megan said teasingly as they started walking towards the front entrance. Don's grin broadened even further and he took another gulp of java before answering with good-natured sarcasm.

"You really are an amazing judge of people - I knew I hired you for a reason," he laughed, opening the door for the profiler before following in after her. Megan cocked one eyebrow and looked over at him with a half-smile.

"Funny - if you thought I was that good, I should think that I'd have gotten a raise by now." They made their way steadily past the receptionist, to whom they tossed a brief nod before stepping into an empty elevator and hitting the button for their floor. Don tossed her an incredulous look.

"It just so happens that you have the highest pay of everyone on the team," he huffed, stuffing one hand in his pocket as he used the other to bring his cup once more up to his lips. Megan stared straight ahead as she spoke, her smirk back on her face.

"Aside from you of course." The comment froze the cup in its journey and Don looked over at her with narrowed eyes. The elevator doors chose that moment to open and Megan strode out ahead of him, leaving him to catch up to her, all the while shaking his head and muttering something about hitting bellow the belt as they made their way through the empty office towards their cluster of cubicles and bullpen. Shrugging off his suit jacket, Don draped it over the back of his desk chair, carefully placing his coffee by his keyboard before quickly and professionally tying his tie and straightening his dresshirt collar over it. He heard a mirthless chuckle coming from behind him and turned to see Colby shaking his head disgustedly.

"It's too early to look that proper," he muttered, and Don grinned as he took in the man's rumpled suit and the tie that was clenched in the man's left hand, an extra-large coffee occupying the other.

"Had a late night Granger?" he asked innocently, smoothing down his tie as he sat down in his swivel chair, facing his younger agent's desk. A grunt sounded from behind the tall cup before he swallowed in order to answer.

"It was the first free night we've had in forever, so naturally the last thing my friends'll let me do is kick off early," he gripped, tossing his tie down beside the monitor of his computer. A laugh that Don recognized as David's sounded from behind the wall of Colby's cubicle before the neatly dressed agent emerged from around the corner, leaning casually up against it.

"I remember hearing something about peer pressure at one of those presentations they give you in high school," he commented, looking up at the ceiling as though in thought before returning a jibbing gaze to his friend's unimpressed face. "'Just say no' wasn't it?" He dodged a swat from his co-worker and headed over to his own desk still laughing as he shuffled through the papers there. "I'm sure I speak for everyone though when I say that I'm looking forward to a boring week for once," he said, sitting down with a sigh.

"Amen to that," called Megan from her seat after returning from opening the window to let in some fresh air. Don had to nod in agreement; even with a full night's rest, his brain still felt scrambled from the hurricane that had been his work of late and he was seriously looking forward to recuperating, even considering taking some of that vacation time that he had coming to him. He leaned back in his chair.

_Maybe I could stay at Charlie's for a while, _he thought seriously to himself as he listened to the others settle in around him. _After all, I've hardly had a chance to talk to him or Dad for the past three months, never mind stopping in for supper. We could probably -_

His thoughts were interrupted by the far off sound of four sharp cracks that drifted in through the open window, his subconscious immediately recognizing it for what it was despite its lack of volume. Unsure however if he had simply imagined the disturbance, he glanced quickly around at the members of his team, knowing right away that they had heard the same things: gunshots - from the parking lot bellow.

Not a word was exchanged as instinct led to each of them drawing their guns and immediately taking the elevator back down to the lobby where they found the receptionist already calling for back-up, training leading them in two-by-two cover formation to the front doors through which they saw the lobby's two morning guards chasing and firing after a small, black Buick. Without hesitation, they continued on through the doors, eyes scanning the lot for the possible targets and/or victims of the shots that he and his team had heard before. When at last the sound of the shooter's vehicle faded into the distance, Don heard it: another running engine, near by...

His ears led him to his left, to a small car in a space not far from Don's own whose tailpipe still spewed exhaust, and whose driver's side door was still open on the side that didn't face a parked car. He could also see two figures occupying the seat up front - neither were moving.

The agents approached cautiously, slightly fearful of what they were certain to find, their fears confirmed when they came up on either side of the vehicle and looked in, unable to help the sinking feeling in their stomachs: in the passenger's seat of the vehicle was a young woman, her head tilted to the side, her eyes closed and her face slackened as though asleep, though the growing stain on the front of her shirt proved otherwise. And in the driver's seat was a man in a mirrored state, a man that they all four of them recognized: Special Agent Braddly Trenton - he worked in their division. Don immediately whipped out his cell phone and dialled, holding it to his ear as he watched the return of the security guards and waited for the call to be answered.

_"911, Emergency Response - Please state your emergency."_ The calm, collected female voice of the emergency services operator certainly matched his exterior, but was the polar opposite of the thoughts and fears that ran rampant at his core. _An agent was just murdered mere minutes ago...along with an innocent civilian... right on the FBI's doorstep. Shit._

"This is Special Agent Don Eppes with the FBI - I have an agent down, repeat: I have an agent and a civilian wounded - I need paramedics at the following address..." Don rattled off their location and quickly hung up, tucking away his gun before crouching down beside Brad and pressing his hands as hard as he could over the wound in his chest, only now seeing the blood that had been flowing from the side of his and the woman's heads; they were both already dead. Swearing under his breath, Don stood from his crouch and looked over to where Megan had already begun to question the security guards who looked as though they had just run a marathon, both of the rookies gasping as they leaned back against one of the cars a short distance away, trying to catch their breath enough to provide the information that Megan was looking for.

Don glanced over at his other two agents, finding David to be on the phone, no doubt calling the FBI's Deputy Director, and Colby wiping what was more than likely to be the woman's blood off of his hands with a hanky probably provided by Megan. Blinking, Don finally looked down at his own hands, only really noticing right then that Brad's blood covered them. He forced himself to swallow the bile that inadvertedly rose to the back of his throat.

So much for a boring week.

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_TBC_


	2. Monday: The First Day, 7:30 AM

**A/N:** sorry about the long wait, but i've been having a pretty crazy few weeks on this end, so it couldn't really be helped. so here it is, and i hope it was worth the wait:)

**P.S:** this chapter has been reposted since i now have a working spellchecker:)

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**Chapter 2 - Monday: The First Day (7:30 A.M.)**

Within half-an hour the scene was swarming with armed FBI agents, some taking pictures, a few more examining the bodies, a few more examining the scene, and more still guarding the perimeter against the swarms of reporters that had somehow caught wind of the incident. And, in the centre of all the chaos, Don and his team had each been taken aside separately, answering questions rather than asking them, Don working at fighting back what he was sure would not be the last of the migraines to come as he related his version of what had transpired. The inane details did nothing to help his head but the agent questioning him was, in Don's opinion, less sympathetic than he should have been, continuing to press for answers on where he'd been when the shots had been fired, who had been with him, why he'd come to the office as early as he had, etc, etc.

He barely noticed when the man, who Don thought had introduced himself as Agent Spinlie or something close to that, thanked him, telling him that that was all for now before taking his leave. His attention was focussed mainly on using one hand to massage the bridge of his nose. Of all the times to get a damn headache...

"You might want to use this." Megan's voice startled him from his stupor and he looked up at her sharply, taking a moment to notice that she held a damp towel out to him, most likely from the woman's washroom inside. He followed her gaze down to his own hands, wincing as he realized that they were still painted red before seizing what his partner offered, not caring in the least that he was probably staining it permanently as he scrubbed his hands clean, as an afterthought using a clean corner to wipe off what was now probably on his nose.

"Thanks," he said flatly, tossing the ruined cloth to the pavement at his feet before resuming watching the agents processing the car. For the longest moment they looked on in silence, each wishing that they could be assisting in some way right then but at the same time not knowing what they could possibly do; they had all but witnessed the crime, so there wasn't any other questions that they could ask, and they weren't trained to process crime scenes, which is the one thing that _did_ need to be done. Don shook his head angrily; he _hated_ feeling, and _being_ this useless, especially for something like this...

He was interrupted in his mental rampage by the shrill ringing of his cell phone but he ignored it - until a disapproving look from the profiler beside him prompted him to retrieve the device from its belt clip.

"Eppes." His voice was clipped but also tired sounding, making it seem like he hadn't gotten _any_ sleep the previous night instead of the eight hours that he had managed to rake in. The last thing he had been expecting however was to hear his brother's frantic voice respond.

"Don?" The tone in which Charlie spoke caused Don's heart to flutter unpleasantly.

"Charlie? What is it? What's wrong?" A brief, scared chuckle sounded over the other line and Don frowned in confusion, avoiding Megan's questioning stare.

"Nothing's wrong with me - I was calling to see if _you_ were alright." Even more confused than before, Don held up one finger to Megan, indicating that he'd explain momentarily.

"Why would you do that?" There was a long pause on the other line, and he could he the mathematician draw in a slightly shaking breath.

"I turned on the T-V and... it's all over the news Don - they were saying that an F.B.I agent working in your division had been shot and killed in the building's parking lot a-around the time you said you were heading in, and I guess I just..." Charlie's voice trailed off nervously, waiting for his older brother to say something. Don heaved a sigh and once more massaged the bridge of his nose, though this time with a clean hand. He hadn't even thought about the possibility that someone from his small family would catch wind of this incident just yet, let alone think the murdered F.B.I agent to be him.

"It's okay Charlie, I'm all right - so's everyone else," he added, referring of course to the rest of his team in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. At this point, he wasn't at all sure if his act of being the cool-headed, strictly professional Special Agent Don Eppes was up to its usual flawlessness. However, it was apparently good enough for the young man on the other line, for Don could hear a held breath being let out.

"Good. That's...that's good." Hesitation. "So, who was the agent?" He really didn't feel like having this discussion, his head feeling ready to burst with the pressure that this latest tragedy had brought on, but the logical part of his mind told him that he might as well just get it over and done with, wondering vaguely why Charlie would want or need to know.

"Brad Trenton," he said quietly. Though Charlie had never met, or even heard of the man, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for his brother who was obviously taking Brad's death a little hard. "It was Trenton and his wife who were killed." This statement was first met with shocked silence; Charlie hadn't heard about that second murder, and Brad's wife at that. He swallowed, glad that Don couldn't see his shocked expression; this just kept on getting worse and worse. All he could do was hope that it wasn't what he thought it to be...

"Do they have any idea who did it? And why?"

"No - only that there were two, maybe three men in the car, and that only one jumped out and did the shooting." Don hoped that Charlie had caught the tone of that last sentence and interpreted it as it was meant: to tell him that that was all that he would be hearing about the matter. Though obviously he couldn't be seen, Charlie nodded his acknowledgment.

"You'll call me if you need my help?"

"Yeah buddy, I will." _Not unless I have no other choice_, he thought to himself; cases such as these, ones of brutal and cold execution, were ones that he preferred, if at all possible, to keep away from his little brother - he didn't need to see the things that Don dealt with, the things that kept him up most nights.

"Right. So I'm guessing that you won't be stopping by for supper tonight?" Don winced at the slightly disappointed, yet all too knowing tone; did he really dive that much into cases _every_ time that his family had become use to his absence?

"I, uh, I'll see if I can drop by later, okay?"

"Okay. I've got to head over to CalSci right now, and supper's going to be around eight-ish tonight, so I'll see you...whenever?" If Don didn't know any better, he'd guess by the soft, slightly monotone expression in his Charlie's voice that his brother was stressed over something, probably hadn't been sleeping properly in his quest to solve whatever the newest problem was. Don bit his tongue on the matter; he'd have to deal with that later - he didn't have time right now.

"Yeah."

"Alright, well, good luck then."

"Thanks. Bye Charlie."

"Bye." Click.

And that was it. Don stood there for a long moment listening to the dial tone, contemplating his relationship, or perhaps lack there of with his brother and his father of late and wondering what he'd missed these past three months before finally giving up, at least for the moment, and sighing yet again as he hit the end button and replaced his phone in its clip. He suddenly found that he had no desire whatsoever to continue to watch the proceedings, wanting instead to be inside, doing something proactive with the information they had collected from the interviews with the guards and the initial examination of the victims' car - in short, at the moment Don just wanted to feel if not actually _be_ useful.

Pushing himself off of the car which had become his support, he took on his typical authoritative stance as he turned to Megan who already stood at attention, ready to listen to and carry out his orders.

"Common, let's go nab Colby and David and head inside with whatever preliminary reports and pictures we can get our hands on, as well as the guards' interviews; we've got work to do."

* * *

Half an hour later, all four had settled once more into their workspaces with each of their given tasks, the levity of earlier completely wiped away while they worked, Megan going over the accounts of the guards as well as security tapes of the lot to set up a profile on the killers' characteristics and actions, Colby working on tracking down the type of gun used in the murders, David looking for hits on the partial licence plate the had gotten from the guards and the tapes, and Don taking a close look at all of Trenton's case files for the past year, for a start, for perps who might have gotten away or been released from prison recently, still carrying a grudge - and it was one hell of a long list of possible candidates. And yet so far, no luck. 

"Well, I got a gun to go with the bullets." Colby's voice broke through their intensely concentrated silence, making the other three jump just a little in their chairs before they looked over at their co-worker. Upon seeing that he had their attention, he continued. "According to records, the bullets are a match for a Glock .45 auto, the type of gun used by most law enforcement because of the convenience in being a lightweight, and having a thirteen bullet cartridge." Colby frowned slightly. "But without the gun to compare the bullets to, this information is basically useless in finding out the 'who' and the 'why' in this mess." In his mind, Don agreed avidly if not grudgingly with the man, but outwardly he merely nodded and bit his lip, turning towards his other two agents for an update on their progress, Megan opting to go first.

"Unfortunately, I don't have all that much to go on, or as Charlie would put it: 'I don't have enough data'," she started, making air-quotes with her fingers for effect. It worked too - the comment and accompanying gesture caused her team-mates to give brief but genuine smiles and chuckles, Megan smiling to herself as well; score one for the profiler. All too soon, they lapsed back into attentativeness and she carried on with her report. "So at this point, I can hardly even be sceptic as to how these guys are wired, except to say that based on the smooth, quick, and obviously calculated moves reported by the guards and seen on the tapes, these guys have got some experience; the car pulled up right as soon as Trenton was parked and the shooter was out of his car and beside the driver's side door the second it opened and was shooting a second later, not even hesitating at all." She shook her head grimly. "He just got out, did the deed, got back in, and they sped off. One thing is for certain though: their attitudes are cold, and all business. These guys are pros." This revelation only served to put the team even more on edge as David cleared his throat cautiously.

"I've got a little ways to go with that car. The partial on the licence plate we got, P2R-4, was a match to one-hundred vehicles in the L.A. area, fifty of which match the visual description, and thirty out of those that aren't in the police or local impound." His fingers started fidgeting with the pen he was holding. "It'll take me a while to track down the owners of each and a while longer before we can start ruling them out as suspects." Don considered this for a moment.

"Alright, Colby, you start helping David with tracking down and interviewing those owners. Do it over the phone if you can, in person if you have to." Both men nodded and Colby joined the agent at his workstation, tossing his jacket aside and rolling up his sleeves before digging into the piles of owner's names. Satisfied, Don then turned to Megan. "You're with me - we're on case file duty."

Despite the situation, Don couldn't help the grin that erupted at the look of disgust that shone in Megan's eyes. But again, the moment of release was gone all too quickly, and they were soon settling down in the layout room, readying themselves for what was certain to be a _long_ Monday.

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It was past ten that night by the time Don pulled his SUV carefully into his brother's driveway, immediately turning off the engine and removing his seatbelt, but staying sitting for a moment as he tried to subdue the pent-up frustration that had increased exponentially throughout the wasted day. Colby and David had spent until nine that night tracking down each car owner, only being able to contact a few out of their long list before Don had ordered them to go home for the night, getting to sleep early enough so that they could get an early start tomorrow at eight. He and Megan had stayed almost an hour longer, continuing their search through the agent's case files that had occupied their day as well, their work equally if not more fruitless than the others'. 

Don shook his head angrily, dropping his gaze from the lit windows of his childhood home to his hands in his lap, angry at the fact that they had hardly gotten anywhere in the investigation of the two murders as well as frustrated with himself for being angry when it had in fact only been one day of investigating and as a senior agent and team leader, he should know better than to expect results so quickly - he just couldn't help it. Something about this whole thing just didn't feel right; he'd had the worst sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach since that morning that he just couldn't shake, as though it wasn't just that an F.B.I agent and his wife had been murdered in front of a federal building, but it was or was going to be something much worse...

With one final sigh of resignation, Don exited the vehicle and strode towards the house, not bothering to knock before entering and tossing his suit jacket onto one of the hooks inside the entrance enroute to the living room where he found Alan Eppes seated in the easy-chair, reading his newspaper with an intense concentration that led Don to believe that it wasn't actually being read so much as giving the eldest Eppes something to grip tightly as well as something to glare down at. All in all, the end result on his father's general appearance was enough to make Don cautious as he sidled over to the couch.

"Hey dad," he said as he sat down heavily and reached for a magazine on the coffee table. He managed a casual tone though he was in the beginnings of curiosity and slight apprehension, both of which raised slightly when his greeting was met by a rough grunt, or harrumph more like, the man not looking up from his printed pages. The two sat in silence for a long moment, both not actually reading the words in front of them, until Don finally threw caution into the wind, deciding to simply come right out and ask. "What's up?" He swallowed almost imperceptibly when the glare shifted from the sports' page over to him, the expression on Alan's face making Don, an F.B.I agent with countless years of experience in life-threatening situations, shift nervously, wishing that he were anywhere else at that moment. He would have chuckled if he weren't so nervous: Alan Eppes seriously missed his calling as an interrogator - that look alone would make any man want to spill whatever information he could. His response bore a tone to match.

"Your brother." Those two words alone spoke volumes, and would have convinced Don to hold off questioning a little longer to wait for the man to cool down, but he continued with an explanation without being asked. "He's been spending every minute away from CalSci for the past month locked up in the garage with his equations. It's a battle just to get him to come in for meals every day and to get some sleep every night, and I _know_ that he's got to be working on another one of those consulting projects, but the only thing he'll say about it is that this one isn't for you and your team - yet." Alan's eyebrows quirked, saying for him that he was waiting for Don to explain what Charlie would not.

Don blinked but for a moment was too lost in thought to speak. _Charlie'd been working on a project for a _month_? How could he have not known? Oh, right, he'd hardly seen his brother for _three_. But what was the project? And what did he mean by saying that it isn't for me and my team _yet

The sound of Alan putting down his newspaper and sitting forward in his seat brought Don back to reality, and he met his father's gaze, already knowing what he was going to ask before he came out and asked it, his tone clearly concerned.

"Please, could you talk to him? He'll give you a straight answer - you're one of the only people he'll give that to." Don rubbed his face tiredly before finally and wordlessly standing up and heading for the door that lead to Charlie's sanctuary, mentally preparing his nerves for a fraying while already coming up with arguments to use to get some solid information.

Nothing could have prepared him, however, for the sight that met his eyes when that door swung open.

Papers and files upon files were stacked, opened, and scattered on every surface, including the floor in some places, a lot of them covered with finger-shaped chalk smears. Every board Charlie owned was stacked or hanging from somewhere, almost every one of them covered in some obscure formula or other. What got him the most however, what made him suddenly feel saddened was the fact that his little brother was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, his piece of chalk still clutched in the hand that was aiding the other slightly shaking one in gripping a photo of gore, the image being one of a man in a patrolman's uniform lying dead beside his squad car, blood having poured onto the pavement beneath him from wounds that Don couldn't pinpoint from this angle. However, pinpointing such mundane facts was the last thing on Don's mind at the moment as he slowly approached the slightly shaking form on the floor, making sure to scuff his feet on the ground in order to try and give Charlie notice that he was there.

It didn't work; Charlie never ceased staring down at the photograph, his mass of dark curls shielding his face from Don's view as he gave no indication that he had noticed that he was no longer alone in the garage. Stopping a few feet in front of him, Don decided that it was best if he knelt so as to be more down to Charlie's current level before he chanced clearing his throat loudly. Still no reaction.

"Charlie?" It was as though a gun had gone off next to him. Before the last syllable of his name had come out of Don's mouth, Charlie's head had shot up, closely followed by the rest of his body in what turned out to be a full jump backwards and to the side so that he was 'protected' by the side of the couch. Don could only stare in obvious shock as he finally caught sight of his brother's face which was tear-streaked and haggard, his brown eyes wide with fear for the split second that it took for him to recognize his visitor as being Don, after which a mask of wan professionalism took over. The transformation was so sudden and in such sharp contrast to what Don had just seen that he stood quickly, startled. Neither spoke as Charlie made quick work of wiping his cheeks dry and rubbing his eyes, after which he cleared his throat and met Don's stunned gaze.

"Hey Don. Didn't hear you come in. Is dad still up? He would probably get you some of the leftovers heated up if you asked him," he stated casually as he slipped the photo he'd been staring at into a folder and continued scribbling out numbers. Charlie's evasiveness combined with the reaction he had witness just a few seconds ago left the normally smooth talking F.B.I agent speechless, the only sound to fill the air being the harsh scratching of the chalk and the occasional sniff from the one wielding it. When he finally broke out of his trance, Don strode to his brother's side, staring again at the now apparently concentrated face for a long moment before chancing speaking.

"Charlie...Charlie, look at me..." He apparently hadn't heard him, which under other circumstances would be believable, after all: this was Charlie. However, right at this moment, Don seriously doubted that the math genius was as absorbed in his work as he appeared to be. Decidedly giving up on being diplomatic, Don reached over and snatched the piece of chalk from his brother's hand with his, using his other hand to grab firm hold of Charlie's shoulder and turn the man to face him. The fact that Charlie made not a sound, made no move to object to what normally would have been Don interrupting an important train of thought only strengthened Don's belief that something was _seriously_ wrong; now if only he could get the young man to talk to him about it. "Charlie what's going on? What happened?" He shot a quick glance at all the files. "Is it the project you're working on that's got you so upset?" At that last statement, Charlie looked up at him sharply, suddenly straightening his previously slumped shoulders, forcing himself to stand taller than he had been as he met Don's concerned expression.

"I'm fine. I...I'm not upset - it's...it's nothing, I'm fine." Charlie found himself unable to maintain eye contact and he dropped his gaze to his fidgeting hands. Don's grip on his brother's shoulders tightened a little, and the professor looked back up at him, an odd pleading look in the backs of his eyes as though he didn't want to talk about it, and didn't want Don to ask because he knew that if he did, his carefully constructed self-control would crack. _And if past intel is anything to go by, then that is the last thing Charlie would want to have happen in front of the older brother whose approval is something he's held precious to him since that first case_, Don thought. On the other hand, whatever it was that was on Charlie's mind was clearly eating away at him and could not be left to fester, if Charlie's appearance and demeanour were anything to go by.

Before he could come to a decision however, he felt a sudden grip on his forearm, looking over to see that it was Charlie's hand, still covered in chalk dust.

"Please Don, not tonight. It's not as bad as I thought, and I promise I'll tell you later, just not right now. Okay?" The tone of the question was so quiet and small, sounding so much like it had been posed by the ten-year old Charlie that was still afraid of the dark rather than the now usually confidant and stoic, F.B.I consulting mathematician that Don felt all will he had to force his brother to share right then leave him, and his expression softened completely as he nodded his head.

"Okay Charlie, okay," he said quietly, and he immediately felt Charlie's grip on his arm relax, along with his entire body in relief, making Don even more sure that he had made the right choice - he and Charlie could talk later, he just had to give him time. "But you gotta do something for me." Charlie nodded, looking at him expectantly. "Take a break on whatever you're working on, and get a decent night's sleep - we'll talk in the morning. Alright?"

Again Charlie nodded and wordlessly allowed Don to steer him back into the house, closing the door behind him before continuing to guide his worn body to the stairs where Don let him carry on unassisted as he looked over at his father who was standing in the living room, regarding him with a proud and grateful smile. Returning it, Don made up his mind to stay the night so as to be able to make good on his agreement to talk to Charlie in the morning, and, knowing that Alan wouldn't question it, Don carefully made his way upstairs after his brother, suddenly looking forward to being back in his old room. After checking to make sure that Charlie had actually gotten into bed, he climbed into his own, falling asleep the second his head touched the pillow.

* * *

The shrill ring of his cell phone woke him from a pleasantly dreamless sleep and Don groaned, glancing over at his clock as he reached for the offending phone: it was seven in the morning. His vision still blurry, Don didn't even bother to check the caller I.D before answering, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Eppes."

"Don." The voice belonged to Megan who was obviously tired from the previous day's stress, but also freshly grim. Don suddenly felt his exhaustion leave him.

"Megan? What's wrong?" A pause, followed closely by a weary sigh.

"You're not going to like this..." Her voice trailed off.

"Spit it out Reeves." Another pause, this one longer, more drawn out, successfully elevating the tension on the line to bursting point before she spoke again, quieter than before.

"It happened again Don," she all but whispered. The statement resulted in Don vaulting out of his bed, standing in the middle of his room as shock and anger boiled to the surface. "Two more victims: F.B.I agent Tracey Polind, and her husband agent Tyler Polind, both from the missing person's division. They - they both received a single shot to the chest and temple." Neither one of them wanted to voice the conclusion that was already forming in their minds: _We've got serial killers on our hands - and they're going after _us

Don staggered over to his jeans which lay on the floor, at the same time as contemplating the note he would have to write to Charlie, explaining why he'd had to take off early, and requesting that they finish their talk later. It was not going to be a pretty one, but Don had no choice, and no time to have it now. He sighed and checked the clip in his gun.

"I'm on my way."

* * *

_TBC_


	3. Tuesday: The Second Day, 7:30 AM

**A/N:** well, here it is folks, the next chapter! bear with me on the details - it's for plot development. and trust me on this, things are going to be getting pretty agnsty, and pretty crazy in the chapters to come, so hang in through the wind up, and let me know what you think:):)

**P.S:** this chapter has been reposted now that i have a working spellchecker again:)

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**Chapter 3 - Tuesday: The Second Day (7:30 A.M.)**

A cold gust of early-morning wind assaulted Don the second he stepped out of his vehicle, forcing him to pull his FBI jacket closer around himself to ward off the threatening shiver as he shut his door, locked it, then strode towards the makeshift boundaries of crime-scene tape that bared the entrance of curious neighbours to the home of the late Tracey and Tyler Polind. Flashing his badge to the patrolmen on perimeter more out of habit than necessity, Don ducked under the tape and carried on to the open front door of the residence, noting that the door though open displayed no signs of forced entry before he carefully slipped inside. Scanning the surrounding rooms for the bodies of the FBI couple, he noticed with some surprise that there did not appear to be any sign of struggle or sign of a break-in at all, all of the furniture still neatly in place, not one picture on the walls crooked and nothing broken.

"Don." Megan's voice carried to his ears over the solemn, near-silent atmosphere in the house easily and he turned towards where it had come from and within moments was at her side, gazing down at the two bodies that sat side by side in the middle of the couch in the centre of the living room. Even Don, one who could normally deal with any crime scene, felt a small shudder go up his spine at the sight of the blood coming from the matching head wounds and chest wounds on the man and woman who were positioned casually, like any married couple, as though they had just been sitting down for a movie right before they were killed. It was... unsettling.

"They could have known their attackers," Don thought aloud, forcing himself to walk closer to the couch and study the scene while the CSIs and M.Es worked. "There was no sign of forced entry, or struggle either here or in the main foyer, meaning that they could have just let them in and sat in here to talk." Megan nodded her agreement with the theory even though at the moment, Don's gaze was focussed intently on the agents on the couch. She didn't miss that his jaw muscles were clenching, his hands fisting and flexing several times, all in an attempt to keep his anger at bay. She didn't blame him either - everyone at the FBI and LAPD shared his sentiment; three FBI agents and an innocent had been murdered in the space of twenty-four hours and they had nothing, outside of a partial licence plate on a more-than-likely _stolen_ car and ballistics reports with nothing to compare them to... so yeah, they had _every_ right and reason to be angry.

"Either that," Megan ventured, her eyes never leaving the bodies, "or our killers could have knocked on the door and given a credible reason for whoever answered to open it, pulling a gun on them and forcing them into the living room once they had gained access." The more Don thought about it, the more Megan's theory made sense nodded his ascension, opting now to return to team-leader mode, asking the questions and dishing out the orders for himself and his team, Colby and David having just joined them.

"Are there witnesses of any sort? Who called it in?" Colby shifted, hesitant in his answer.

"Um... that's the thing Don, there were no witnesses; no one in the neighbourhood even noticed that anything was wrong until the squad cars showed up and taped off the house." Don brow furrowed at Colby's pause.

"Who called it in?" he repeated, though he was starting to get the idea and was not happy about it. The young agent's answer confirmed his suspicions and he went from not happy to silently furious.

"According to the emergency operator, the caller was male, possibly between the ages of thirty and forty, and with no distinguishable accent - didn't give his name. The call was placed at seven this morning, and lasted around ten seconds - just long enough for the guy to say..." he pulled his notepad out of his pocket. "...'Send someone to 619 York Avenue - Agents Tracey and Tyler Polind of the FBI have been murdered'." He flipped it back shut and looked back up at Don who chewed his lower lip thoughtfully.

"So, it's safe to accept the possibility that our killer was the one to call it in, that he _wanted _us to know what he'd done and when he'd done it, applying the same weapon, manner of death, and time of day... and both times on FBI agents." Megan unconsciously ran a hand through her long hair as she continued to voice Don's lines of thinking.

"They want us to know that this is a serial case..." David joined in with the conclusion.

"...and that we're the targets."

This revelation was met with complete silence, not only from their group but from all of the room's FBI, CSI and LAPD occupants who had been listening in on their talk. When Don looked around at all of them however, they immediately set back to work, and he returned his attention to his team.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do: David, I want you working on that 911 call - get voice prints, and see if you can find out from what phone the call was made; get creative." Nodding, David quickly made his exit, already pulling out his cell phone. "Colby, get back to work on those list of vehicles, see if you can find out who owns it, and if they've recently reported it stolen; whatever, okay?"

"Right away Don," he said and ran off after David who'd been his ride to the house in the first place. Satisfied, Don then turned to Megan who was waiting patiently for her instructions with a stance that indicated that she was ready for whatever he threw her way.

"Megan..." He was silent for a moment, mentally debating before finalizing what he wanted done. "I want you back on those case-files; look through the last of them, and call me if you find anything significant. When you're done there, tag-team with David on that 911 call, see what you can pull off the voice prints for your profile on this guy." Nodding like David had, she was about to leave but stopped and looked at him again.

"What are you going to do?" Don sighed, subconsciously rubbing the back of his neck, thereby giving an unintentional indication to the stress that was already building up over this thing - a sign that was easily picked up by someone who not only specialized in reading people, but knew this one more than well enough to know his nervous habits to a tee.

"I'm gonna stick around here for a little while longer, get the pre-lim on the scene sweep, then go back to the office and wait for the tox-screne on the Polins, see if anything was used to subdue them at all. After that and the autopsies, it's to the computer I go - I got a little research to do."

"What on?"

"I want to see if there's been any more cases like this anywhere else; it's just how calculated these guys are, how they seem to have everything timed and worked to perfection that's got me thinking..."

"...that these aren't there first victims," she finished. He nodded his confirmation, a gesture which she returned before giving his arm a gentle squeeze and heading for the front door, only to be stopped by his voice.

"And Megan?" She turned to face him.

"Yeah Don?" For a brief second he let the FBI exterior slide away, showing the version of himself that he usually never let loose while on a case, no matter what: the version that was a little nervous, maybe even a little scared.

"Watch your back out there, and tell Sinclair and Granger the same - we don't know who these guys are or why they're after us, but more importantly, we don't know who's on their hit list..." He paused for a moment, as though still trying to wrap his mind around their situation and the knew dangers they faced, finally looking back, offering a slight, half-smile. "Just be careful, okay?" Mirroring the smile, she finally made her way back to the front door, calling back to him over her shoulder.

"We'll be fine; don't worry."

Don sighed as he watched her exit the home turned crime scene to complete the job he had assigned, hoping that the former would be true, and wishing that the latter were possible.

* * *

**3:00 P.M.**

Charlie was relieved that the day was over, as had become the norm these past few months, warily packing away papers to be graded in his satchel as he listened to the last of his students leave the classroom for the day before following them out, his slow walk to his office a tired one. Like them, he found himself already wishing it were the weekend when it was in fact only two days into the week, although his motives were entirely different; he had no interest in partying with his friends, who weren't party people to begin with, or in going out for a night on the town, maybe seeing a movie...

He sighed as he that last idea crossed his mind, wishing on some level that his mind would be willing to take a break once in a while so that he could enjoy such mundane things as the cinema when he wanted to, but at the same time knowing that what he was working on now far surpassed his small need for a break - people's _lives_ were depending on how quickly he connected the dots, how precise he could make his calculations and predictions... how few breaks he took so that he could continue working instead. And it's not like the victims were just any average person either...

"Good afternoon Charles, might I have a word with you?" The friendly voice startled him out of his thoughts, causing him to jump a little on his feat before he turned himself away from the window, finding himself to be facing a concerned yet curious Dr. Larry Fleindhart.

"Larry!" Charlie breathed, a hand over his racing heart as he slowly moved away from the window. "You startled me!"

"That I can see," Larry commented, joined Charlie in sitting in the chairs on either side of his desk.

"So, uh...what's going on?" Charlie tried to make his tone as casual and steady as possible, but apparently hadn't done a very good job for his friend's face creased into a frown as he answered.

"That is precisely what I had been hoping to ask you," he replied, interlacing the fingers on both his hands in his lap as he leaned forward, clearly waiting for Charlie's response.

"It's nothing Larry, I just...I'm working on a project about the quality of health care available to children in the past and present versus - "

" - the current health of adults today and the predicted health of adults in the near future," Larry finished, his expression a model of patience. Charlie blinked at him, and Larry sighed. "You finished that project a month-and-a-half ago Charles - I watched you submit it myself." Remaining silent, Charlie shifted his gaze to his fidgeting hands in his lap. Sighing again, Larry stood and walked around the desk, crouching down beside his young friend's chair and carefully placing a hand on his slumped shoulder. "Charles...would you like to tell me what's been going on these past three months?" Charlie looked up at him then, the look on his face and in his eyes making him swallow hard, suddenly wondering if he really wanted to know; the young genius had never looked so tired, discouraged, and afraid in all of his recollection and it was a frightening thing to see manifested in someone who was not beaten easily when it came to a problem he was dealing with.

"It's a case Larry, serial murders," came the barely audible answer. It was so quiet that for a moment Larry wasn't sure if he'd actually heard it, therefore taking a second to respond quietly himself.

"For Don?" he asked, though he was fairly certain that he needn't bother; rarely if ever did a case came through this office and had Charlie this devoted without being for his older brother. It was for that reason that Larry was shocked when Charlie slowly shook his head no, that expression never leaving his face though Larry wished desperately that it would.

"But I'm afraid that he has, or will become involved nevertheless, one way or another," Charlie whispered, finally turning away from the even more concerned and confused look his friend was giving him to burry his face in his hands.

Now even more sure than before that something was wrong, if Charlie's distracted and jumpy manner for the past three months was not a dead-ringer, Larry squeezed Charlie's shoulder a little harder to make sure he was listening to him.

"Charles, if it's nothing confidential, do you suppose that perhaps should tell me about it? A fresh mind on the problem could be the key to the answer, as I always say," Larry quipped faintly, trying to lighten the mood a little. It didn't work; Charlie still wouldn't look up at him again and his frown and concern deepened. "Also, difficult things are made all the more difficult to deal with if one does not unload occasionally on a willing friend." That got the math professor's attention, and at last he returned his strained gaze to Larry, who in turn tensed, bracing himself for whatever it was that he was about to hear, suddenly fearing that he would regret asking to hear it.

* * *

Slowly, as though in a daze, Don pushed his chair back from his desk and his computer, the screen of which still bore the information that he had just discovered after merely half-an hour of searching, opting to just sit there and think for a while, allow his mind to grasp the situation fully. The information he had spent the past hour going through hadn't been hard to find because currently, it was being posted in the data-base of every law enforcement agency in ever state in the U.S, the case rapidly becoming the biggest that they'd seen in who-knows-how-long. The reason for that was obvious enough: in three months alone, an unknown number of perps had managed to kill _twenty-eight_ law enforcement officers, the count being made up of nearly equal parts of patrolmen and FBI agents, starting first in New Jersey then moving on to New York, then Miami, then Las Vegas. And not only that, but for over half of the officers and agents killed, their _families_ had been killed with them, every victim with one shot to the side of the head and one to the chest... 

"Goddamnit," Don muttered under his breath, raking his hands over his face before casting a glance at the time displayed on his computer screen - it was already seven at night. _Where did the day go?_ he thought tiredly to himself, then remembered: he had spent the better part of the morning supervising the sweep on the Polins' house, returning to the office only after he'd obtained a copy of the report on the findings, having had to wait around for an extra two or three hours in order to get the test results on the tox-screnes, which had come back negative, as well as a few black fibres found on the carpet and on the shirt sleeves of the victims. Unfortunately, the fibres hadn't been anything significant, merely a regular brand of cotton and polyester that could belong to any piece black of fabric _anywhere_ - aggravating, to say the least, that the only clue left behind aside from the bodies and a 911 call would turn into a dead end so quickly. But then again, how much could you expect to get from a few pieces of black fuzz?

After that, he had had the unfortunate honour to sit through the autopsies, which in the end shed no more light on the couple's murder than anything previous - another dead end. Don did however learn one very important thing today: they were dealing with pros, ones that had been on a killing spree for three months through four different states...that had now found their way to Los Angeles.

"Hey." Megan's soft voice cut through his thoughts and he glanced once more at the clock, startled to see that it read seven thirty. Had he really burned another half-hour just sitting there?

Silently kicking himself for fazing out for so long on a case like this, Don swivelled his chair around to face her where she as leaning against the wall of the cubicle that served as his office, her face a mask of calm and cool observation like it always was when she was working. "Hey," he responded quietly, leaning wearily back in his seat. "You find anything?" He found himself almost daring to hope they'd caught a break, but none-the-less wasn't surprised when she shook her head in the negative.

"I'm still going through them though - I put the search on hold so that I could take a crack at establishing a bit more of a profile on this guy with his voiceprint," she said, mentally debating then finally deciding on pulling her own chair over so that she could sit down while they talked, hopefully allowing her to save the energy she knew she'd be needing in order to continue working any longer that night.

"Any luck?"

"A little: the complete lack of hesitation in his voice and the firm, straight-forwardness of his words leads me to believe that the guy that made the call is use to giving, as well as taking orders, possibly military background - I can't be sure." Don allowed a small smile.

"Well, that's _something_ - which is more than what we had before," he said, turning back to look at his computer. The motion was enough to remind Megan what it was that her boss had been doing before she showed up.

"What about you? Did you manage to find anything at all?" He chuckled wryly.

"I'd say so."

Opting to simply summarize what he'd uncovered rather than making her spend the time that he had in reading it all, Don reported his findings on the wave of law enforcement serial murders throughout four different states, along with a lot of their families, that had been occurring for the past three months, using the exact same M.O as they were dealing with now, with absolutely no clues as to who was behind it all. All in all, this new development was nothing short of horrifying, a tinge of that emotion managing to force its way through the calm and cool mask she prided herself on. With a barely audible sigh, he stood up and stretched, slowly ambling over to stand beside her.

"What do you say to taking a break for a few minutes; maybe walk across the street and grab some coffee for everyone?" Glad for the opportunity to get out of the office, if only for a short while, Megan smiled and followed him to the conference room to retrieve their jackets before heading for the elevators.

"Coffee sounds great Don."

* * *

The first thing Charlie was aware of was the horrible kink in his neck, the feeling being enough to make him groan loudly as he raised his head, not even opening his eyes as he rubbed his face with both chalk covered hands. It took a moment before he remembered where he was and he carefully opened his eyes to survey the garage that had brightened since he had fallen asleep on the couch, going over some notes. Absently rubbing his neck in an effort to relieve the pang that resided there, he suppressed another groan as he looked at the time: it was already seven in the morning - that meant that he had fallen asleep for _seven_ _hours_ last night, when there was still more than enough work to be done. 

_Hm - Dad'll be happy to hear how long I slept, even if it _was_ by accident,_ he thought to himself as he forced his tired body to stand and stretch. Once his back had cracked in several places, thereby relieving some of the built up tension, he let out a contented sigh and decided that for the first time in nearly three months, he was going to spend breakfast and the morning with his father, maybe do some catching up and just talk for a little while. It would certainly be a welcome relief from this project.

He suddenly frowned as the memory of his talk with Larry the day before returned to him, bringing with it the look of obvious distress at the news of what Charlie had been working on. He sighed again, partly wishing that he could have avoided burdening his friend and mentor with such awful happenings, but on the other hand he realized that Larry had been right when he had said that it would be easier for him to deal with it if it were not alone; he couldn't remember the last time that his mind had allowed him a whole seven hours of rest.

With that thought in mind, he smiled to himself and returned to the inside of his house, heading immediately for the kitchen when he smelt breakfast already cooking, meaning that Alan was already up and about. The second he was through the door, his father looked up and made no effort to hide his relief and happiness at the smile on his youngest son's face and the fact that he had finally decided to take a reasonable break. However, as though the Fates had just been toying with them, the very second Charlie sat down at the table to wait for his eggs, his cell phone rang in his pocket, and his smile melted into a frown as he fished it out and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Charlie?" The strain in Don's voice was enough to tell him that that case on the murder of Brad Trenton and his wife was not going well at all. He swallowed hard.

"What is it Don?" he asked, trying to keep the growing unease out of his voice. There was a brief pause on the other line and he heard his brother sigh tiredly before responding.

"You remember that new case I've got?"

"The Trenton's murders?" Another long pause, this one longer and succeeding in making Charlie even more nervous. "Don?"

"There's been more murders since Monday Charlie - two FBI agents yesterday morning, and another one just this morning." The look on Charlie's face must have been something, for Alan immediately raced over to him, asking to know what was wrong and telling him to take deep breaths. Don however, didn't seem to hear what their father was saying, for his voice carried on on the other line. "Look Charlie, I really wish I didn't have to bring you in on this one, but I - _we_ could use your help; your algorithms just might be the only way that we can catch these bastards." Another pause - possibly Don waiting for an answer that Charlie couldn't find his voice to give. "So, what do you say Charlie? Can you help us?" Although Charlie wanted nothing more than to say 'no', he knew now that his worst fears had become confirmed, that his project for the other states had found its way to Los Angeles - and that he'd have to tell his brother.

His voice was barely over a whisper when he answered, covering his eyes with one shaking hand.

"Yes."

* * *

_TBC_


	4. Wednesday: The Third Day, 7:40 AM

**A/N:** okay people, here's the next chapter - i've had a pretty bad past few days, which is why this wasn'tup sooner, so i'd really appreciate some reviews (they always cheer me up, or at least give me something to do!) so read, review, and enjoy!

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**Chapter 4 - Wednesday: The Third Day (7:40 A.M.)**

Hanging up from Charlie after telling him to meet him back at the FBI in half-an hour, Don scrunched his eyes shut and tilted his head back as he leaned against the side of his car. Currently, it was parked behind a dozen squad cars next to the alley that now housed the body of Sgt. Thomas Bradly, formerly of the LAPD. The forty-year-old patrolman had been reported missing by his wife that morning after she had failed to hear from him all night when he had said he'd be off duty at nine, home no later than ten or eleven. Even though no formal report could have been filed until the next day, once Sgt. Bradly had actually been missing for a full twenty-four hours, a close friend of his who took the call volunteered his services in having a look around town for his beat-up Volkswagen at around seven that morning. He had finally spotted it at ten minutes past seven, parked in the lot to the left of the alley and was about to look inside when he heard a scream from the alleyway and ran to investigate only to find a homeless woman staring with wide, terrified eyes at the obviously dead Sgt. Bradly.

Nevertheless, the friend had called for emergency services, after which he phoned in the department head and informed dispatch of his need for back up. Now normally, a case such as this would be worked by the department to which the officer belonged to, but special circumstances such as these had spurred the Sgt.'s friend to call the FBI's office immediately after calling everyone else - not only had the officer been killed using the same M.O as the very public agent killings, but a note had been pinned to the dead man's shirt: _For the FBI - L.A's "finest"_.

Don's eyes suddenly snapped open as he realized the mistake that he had made over the phone, basically telling Charlie that another agent had been murdered that morning when he had meant to specify that there had indeed been another murder, but this time outside of the FBI. He shook his head, knowing that his slip up in his choice of words was the least important thing at the moment; he'd clear that up later, when he met Charlie back at the office. Right now, they still had a fourth murder from their serial killers to deal with.

Finally taking a deep breath in an attempt to draw upon his already waning energy reserves, Don pushed himself off the vehicle's door and walked briskly over to where Megan was talking with the homeless woman, being careful not to interrupt as he stopped behind her to listen in.

"So you heard the gunshots when?" Megan asked calmly of the woman, Charlene, who was finally beginning to calm down after almost having a panic attack when they had first arrived on scene. Charlene swallowed hard, her voice now abnormally quiet in comparison to its earlier high pitch.

"I'm almost positive that it was seven when the two shots went off," she said, staring off to the side at nothing. "I know 'cause I could hear the guy on the second floor apartment turn on his radio during breakfast, like he always does, and always at seven." She pointed to a small, sagging cardboard shelter that was at the opposite end of the alley in which Sgt. Bradly had been killed. "My place is just under his kitchen window - sometimes he drops a croissant down to me before he leaves for work," she said, a small smile coming to her grimy features at the thought of the food. Returning the smile, Megan suddenly felt as though she were being watched, and didn't have to turn to know that it was Don as she continued with her questions.

"So, tell me again - everything you heard and saw from the time when the noises first started to the time when you found Sgt. Bradly's body," she said as gently as she could. Charlene nodded, still not looking Megan in the eye, but at least managing to focus on her chin instead of the ground.

"The voices woke me up this morning, I'm not sure at what time 'cause I don't have a watch, and I'm pretty sure that there was three of them - two kept on saying to someone that he didn't have to worry: he wasn't going to be part of the problem any more, but was about to become part of the solution instead." Charlene paused, the expression on her face clearly stating that she didn't want to have to say the rest, but knew that she had no choice as she finally met Megan's gaze with one of anxiety and fear. "And...and then the third voice came in, asking them o-over and over what it was that they wanted with him, who they were and w-why they were doing this. And I...I guess at that p-point they pointed a gun at him, b-because he started to beg them not to shoot him, b-beg them to let him live - and then two shots went off, and he stopped begging, and I...I waited until I heard those other guys walk away before I got up and ran over, but he...he was already..." Charlene's voice trailed off into sobs as she buried her face in her hands, and Megan knew that the interview was over. Placing a hand gently around the woman's shoulders, she steered her towards one of the cruisers near by, directing her to have a seat in the open backseat of the vehicle before turning towards the cop who had just stepped out of the driver's seat.

"Officer, would you be so kind as to arrange for someone to bring this woman a hot breakfast and some coffee?" she asked. With a quick glance at the sobbing Charlene, the young man nodded briskly and strode off, leaving Megan, Don, and the witness alone. The two agents walked to the front of the car so as to give Charlene some space while they talked.

"So, was that all you were able to find out?" Don asked quietly. Megan nodded in response.

"She was the only witness, and the only evidence again was the 911 call and a few of those same black fibers on the cop's shirt," she said regretfully, looking and sounding almost as frustrated as Don felt. "The only difference I can see is that this time it was an LAPD officer, instead of one of our guys. And again, that's not even abnormal, considering we already know that these guys are going after both."

Don's gaze flitted over to where the men from the coroner's office were loading the occupied gurney into the back of their van. When he spoke, Megan wasn't even sure if it was directed at her, his voice taking on that tone he used when his thoughts were running circles around his head while he tried in vain to slow them down enough for him to see the answer buried in their depths.

"The million-dollar question is _why_."

* * *

**8:00 A.M.**

Charlie was having a hard time in slowing his heart-rate to a more healthy level as he stepped onto the elevator, hitting the button for Don's floor with the back of one hand that was helping the other in holding a heavy box of case files. It had taken him surprisingly little time to reach the office in downtown L.A. during the morning traffic and when he had finally arrived, he suddenly found himself wishing that the traffic had been at least ten-times thicker so that he'd be stuck in it, or that he'd run out of gas on the way so that he'd had to either walk or wait to hitch a ride to a gas station - at least that way he would've had a little more time to come up with the right words to use in the explanation that he was about to try to give to his older brother. What was he suppose to say to him? How was he supposed to say it? And _why_ was he so nervous?

Sweat developed on Charlie's palms as he realized that every scenario that he ran through his head ended with a very upset and _armed_ Don Eppes - this was not going to be pretty.

At that moment, the chirpy ding and sliding open of the elevator doors startled him, causing him to jump more than walk out of the elevator where he paused for a moment in a last ditch effort to collect himself before he headed for the section of the floor that he knew belonged to Don and his team. Even before he rounded the cubicles before his brother's, he could hear that Don was blessedly distracted in dishing out orders to his team and getting updates on all their leads. Biting down on his tongue as he stood just outside the team's cubicles, Charlie turned a calculating gaze towards the war room.

_...approximately fifty steps to the doorway... I take approximately 1.5 steps every second... if I go non-stop, I'll be in the room in exactly 33.5 seconds, and if I close the door and draw the shades over the windows before I start working, the probability of Don noticing right away that I'm here is exactly - _

"Hey Charlie - glad you could make it here right away." Don's voice right beside him combined with his sudden apparition away from his team jolted Charlie from his thoughts of hiding so suddenly that he jerked, loosing his grip on the box he was holding so that it went crashing to the floor between the two of them.

"Don! I - uh...didn't see you there," Charlie sputtered, calculating in the back of his mind exactly how fast his heart would have to be beating before he went into cardiac arrest. Smirking at how involved his brother could get in day-dreaming sometimes, Don stooped to start retrieving the scattered papers from whatever it was that his brother had brought with him.

"You know Charlie, sometimes I find myself worrying that you'll dive into your thoughts like that when you go to cross the road, and you'll end up getting hit by a bus or something..." he said with a chuckle as he started scooping up type-covered sheets. Failing to notice the pallor of his brother's face as well as his jerking, nervous movements, he continued talking to Megan like he had been doing before he'd spotted his brother standing stock-still beside their cubicles, griping a box and staring at something across the room. "So Megan, did you and David listen to that new 911 call?" Regarding Charlie's body language with a confused frown, Megan answered.

"Um, yeah, but I didn't get anything new out of it - it was basically a duplicate of the first call, except obviously this time it said that _Sgt. Bradly _was murdered, and it gave the address of the apartment buildings on either side of the alley where his body was."

Seeing the look Megan was giving him, Charlie suddenly felt that if he didn't get it out now, he'd loose his nerve, and so stopped collecting his spilled papers and tried to get Don's attention.

"Uh - Don..."

"Yeah, just one second buddy...okay, so did you at least get somewhere in those old case fi -" He stopped himself mid-sentence when he got a good look at a picture he'd just picked up - it was the same picture he'd seen yesterday night in the garage, only now he was able to get a clear look at the wounds that were responsible for the blood on and around the cop on the pavement: one shot to the side of the head, and one to his chest. Don's eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly in shock as he thumbed roughly through the other pictures in the stack of papers he was holding as well as what was still on the ground, his confusion and shock growing as he saw that each one of them showed the same horrible scene with countless patrolmen and men in FBI jackets, as well as their _families_. What...?

Realization suddenly dawned on him and, at a loss for words, Don slowly looked up at his brother, only now noticing just how agitated he was. Charlie swallowed hard before he was able to make his voice work - the look on Don's face wasn't helping any, and neither was Megan's almost demanding stare.

"I - I wanted to tell you earlier, but I didn't want you to worry about it unless you had to..."

"Charlie..." Charlie's gaze dropped to his feet.

"Apparently I'm well-known even more abroad than I thought, because about three months ago I was hired on as a consultant for the law enforcement offices in New Jersey, New York, Las Vegas, and Miami in regards to a serial murder case, wherein the victims being targeted were all officers of some kind or were their immediate family, and I - well, I..." Not really knowing what else to say, Charlie let his voice trail off and finally looked up first at Megan whose eyebrows were raised in surprise, then finally risked looking over at his brother and felt his palms go sweaty again as he once more imagined one of the scenarios where he was up against an armed and angry FBI agent - he didn't even have to use his math to know that his odds of escaping a confrontation were not good.

"Conference room - _now_," Don said in a low voice as he dropped the papers he was holding onto his desk and grabbed solid hold of Charlie's shoulder before steering him away from Megan who was now trying to hide a smirk.

Charlie was barely able to keep his feet from stumbling as he allowed himself to be pulled away by his brother, not failing to notice how fast Don managed to bring them across the room and into the war room.

_...took exactly thirty-five steps, with one step every half-a second... took only 17.5 seconds to get to the room... if only I could've moved that fast before..._

Sooner than Charlie would have liked, he was deposited inside the room, and the door was closed behind the both of them before Don rounded on him.

"_This_ is what you've been working on for the past three months?" Don demanded disbelievingly, his attempt at keeping semi quiet turning his voice into a type of hiss. However, he immediately regretted the tone he had taken when he saw his brother flinch, keeping his gaze aimed at the floor as he tried to respond.

"I - I'm sorry Don...I...I don't know what to tell you - it wasn't like it was privileged information, but considering what the case was pertaining to...I didn't want Dad to be scared, and I didn't want to tell you then have you have to keep something else from him...just all those people...God, Don, the cops and the agents...their wives and children...killed like that - " Don interrupted Charlie's distressed ramblings by grabbing firm hold of his shoulders, his gentle grip encouraging the math genius to look up at him, after which his face registered surprise at the empathy and sad understanding he found in his older brother's eyes.

"I'm not mad at you Charlie, but you still should have told me sooner..." A look of slight apprehension stole over Charlie's features, and Don gave his shoulders another gentle squeeze. "...because you shouldn't have had to deal with that kind of thing alone - that'd be rough on any agent, never mind a math professor, FBI consultant or not," he said, offering a small, reassuring smile. He was more than glad when a relieved smile spread across Charlie's face, and he let his own broaden as he gave his brother a friendly clap on the shoulder before opening the door and leading him back to the mess of papers they had left behind. "Now, I'm hoping that after three months, you've got some sort of algorithm developed, or at least the beginnings of one?" he asked as the both of them continued their cleaning efforts. He felt his hopes at progress drop a little at Charlie's frown.

"See that's the thing: the way these guys are doing it...I just can't seem to get enough variables to analyze the ample amount of data I've collected from each...scene." Hearing the catch in his brother's voice and catching views of a few of the pictures involving some of the slain families, Don had to grit his teeth to keep his desire to pull Charlie into a reassuring and sympathetic hug at bay. _It's no wonder I found him like that last night_, he thought, trying his best to shut the image of Charlie's terrified, tear-streaked face out of his mind. _Three months of this would've done that to most any agent in this office..._

They continued their work in companionable silence, the only sounds passing between them being those of shuffling papers as they were retrieved from the ground and placed as neatly as possible back into the box. Once they had finished and had managed to straighten themselves out again, Megan reappeared beside them, picking the full box back up off the ground.

"I'll help Charlie get these things back in order - see if Colby's free to give us a hand too," she volunteered bravely. Don regarded the disorganized jumble with a wary eye, nodding in a way that said without words how glad he was that she had volunteered first.

"Sure thing - you guys better get moving on that. I'll go see how David's coming along with things," he said, ignoring the smirks he received from both his profiler and his younger brother as he turned and gladly headed off towards David's desk.

* * *

**6:30 P.M.**

"Wait! Play that back again - rewind!" Don's voice sounded frantic even to him, and Megan's startled fingers stumbled over the buttons in an attempt to comply with his request.

After spending half the morning waiting for then going over useless crime-scene reports, and receiving a "nothing yet, boss" report from David, Don had finally relented to helping Megan, Colby and Charlie in resorting the dozens, and dozens of papers and gruesome pictures into their appropriate files, all the while smirking at Charlie's grumblings about how neatly organized it had all been before Don had snuck up on him like that. Finishing their sorting at a little bit after two-thirty that afternoon, the three FBI agents had left Charlie to continue his work that he had brought with him, all three heading off to finish with the old case-files of now three dead FBI agents and one dead cop, though they had the feeling that nothing would come from it - just another dead-end in a series of such.

After a long while, Megan had broken off from the group to have another go at the 911 calls, though she couldn't say for sure what it was exactly that she was hoping to find. However, she had only been on her first round of listening when Don had suddenly jumped up from where he had been falling asleep at his desk, half-shouting his request as he sprinted over to her. Finally managing to hit the rewind button on her computer's media player, she waited a few seconds for it to return to the beginning before pressing play again, turning up the volume in an effort to hear whatever it was that Don had heard.

"There!" he said excitedly, his finger jabbing towards the computer screen. Frowning, having not heard anything out of the ordinary, Megan once more rewound the message, about to press play when Don spoke again. "Is there any way you can tune down the voice in the foreground of the recording so that the background sounds are louder?" he asked, and she gave him an incredulous look.

"The I.T. guys may have installed one of their programs on my computer, but an expert I am not!" she exclaimed, one hand going to her hip to emphasize her point.

"Could you at least try?" he said, pleadingly. Sighing frustratedly, she set to work and, using a series of trial and error and best guesses, finally sat back again a minute or two later, and once more pressed play, marveling as the message sounded out that she'd actually been able to do it.

This time however, she heard it: another voice, followed by yet another, more static voice, as though someone where speaking to their partner over a radio. Excited now as well, Megan didn't have to wait for Don's order to rewind the tape once more, re-adjusting the settings in order to amplify the background sounds even further. At that moment, Colby and David quickly walked over to them.

"Don! I think - " David was cut off by Don's sharp 'Hold on', and, curiosity piqued, him and Colby came closer, seeing now that Megan was working on the audio program with what could only be one of the 911 calls. When she finally hit play again, what they heard made all of them gape openly at the computer screen.

'"We just finished up here - we're going to pick up a few more supplies, then we're headed back to base."'

'_"Ten-four; see you back here at 0-eight-hundred hours."_'

The message ended, but no one moved to play it back again - they'd heard all they needed to hear; the choice of terminology and coding was unmistakable.

Colby's shocked question rang loudly in their ears.

"We're dealing with _cops_?"

* * *

_TBC_


	5. Thursday: The Fourth Day, 4:00 AM

**A/N:** introducing... chapter 5:) sorry about the wait and i appologize if you feel that this chapter didn't go far enough, but it was getting pretty long, so i decided to divide it up - anyways, r & r, and enjoy:):)

**

* * *

Chapter 5 - Thursday: The Fourth Day (4:00 A.M)**

Don wasn't exactly sure what it was that had woken him up, just for some reason had this feeling that told him that he really needed to be awake and alert right then. Mindful of the ache that had developed in his neck from his not having the support of a pillow, he carefully sat up on the office couch that he had been forced onto by Megan at around midnight, two hours after having forced David and Colby to go home, and after just having ordered Megan to head home now that she had finished with the case files and their findings were ready to be analyzed the following day. When he had said this, she'd immediately crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow.

"And what about you?" she'd asked. "Are you going to be heading home soon?" When he'd bitten his lip and remained silent, she'd shaken her head at him. "I'll make you a deal: since I know that I can't force you out of here, I'll go home, but only if you lie down on this couch right here, right now, and get some sleep," she said sternly. "Whenever you wake up is when you get back to work, and if you're still asleep by the time I come back at eight, I'll wake you up myself." When he'd hesitated, she'd placed a gentle hand on his forearm so that he looked back up at her, seeing the concern in her eyes and hearing it in her voice. "I want to catch these guys as much as you do, but by depriving yourself of sleep to do it, you're setting yourself up for an accident that could get you and those around you hurt."

That'd done it.

Without further argument and casting her only one brief look of indignant disapproval, he'd dropped onto the slightly stiff surface, accepted his own jacket as a blanket, and fallen asleep in a matter of seconds. Until that point, he hadn't even really realized just how tired he'd become after only three days of nearly non-stop work but then again, he had never really been that great a judge as to when he should take it easy. In his defense, he'd never been as bad for that as Charlie had always been and still was, but that still didn't mean that he was able to take great care of himself all the time - lucky for him, he always had his father there to give him a nudge in the right direction.

Standing up to give his body a good stretch, he glanced up at the clock on the wall and groaned inwardly at the time it indicated, suddenly wishing that he'd had the sense to go home and get a full night's rest in his own bed and simply come back in the morning like the rest of his team. Once all of his muscles had had the cramps worked out of them, he was pleasantly surprised at how refreshed those four hours of sleep had left him compared to what he'd felt the previous day and finally decided that, with the entire office to himself, he'd put his energy to good use and get a little work done on all the evidence they had collected so far, maybe perhaps make some headway before the others returned later in the morning at a more godly hour.

Ultimately deciding to for the moment avoid the bland, day-old coffee in the break room, Don grabbed up his jacket and headed in the direction of the layout room, his mood relatively relaxed...until he rounded the last cubicle and got a clear look into the brightly lit room, and realized with dismay that he'd been mistaken - he wasn't the only one that hadn't gone home the night before.

The only thing missing from this all too familiar scene was the nerve-grating sound of chalk scraping over a black-board and for a long moment, Don found that he couldn't summon the energy to move past the doorway, could only slump up against the room's entrance, struggling with the emotions that threatened to make themselves known as he watched his brother's frenetic yet clearly exhausted movements from one part of the whiteboard to the other. The only sounds aside from the occasional thump of the marker on the surface were the almost non-existent fluttering of papers being shuffled through and the quietly shaking breaths emanating from Charlie, though Don was sure that if Charlie were to stop making any noise altogether, the sound of his own hammering heart would fill the room easily.

Not surprised that Charlie failed to notice his presence, he tried to soften the inevitable jolt by putting forth a cough and a soft knock on the door, and tried to pretend that he didn't notice the flinch they brought forth before Charlie slowly turned to half-face him, speaking more to the doorway beside Don than to Don himself.

"Sorry; I guess I must have woken you when I went to the break room to grab something to keep me thinking somewhat straight," he said quietly, his jaw clenching unconsciously and his gaze dropping as Don fully entered the room, eyeing the several empty cardboard cups scattered around the papers on the table.

"I thought you didn't drink coffee," Don said lightly, leaning carefully against the table next to his brother. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the telltale slump in the young genius' shoulders, the seemingly permanent creases on his brow and the slackness of his features that gave voice to every day of the last three months that had been spent surrounded by the evidence and pictures of a mounting death-toll and the pressure and guilt that followed when after each time, he still could not come up with the solution to it all. The mere thought of Charlie having to endure all that caused Don's hands to fist inside his pant's pockets and his heart to beat even harder through his anger at his own helplessness in the situation as he tried his hardest to pay attention to Charlie's response.

"It's not coffee, actually - it's herbal tea." He was glad when Charlie finally set down the marker and papers he'd been holding, but became slightly alarmed at how much he was leaning against the table, as though if it were to suddenly move out of the way, nothing would be able to keep him standing. He swallowed hard and forced himself to keep on talking casually.

"I still don't get how you can drink that stuff; all it reminds me of is back in minor-league baseball when I was in the outfield and would dive to catch the ball and end up taking a face-plant in the grass after I caught it, and got some of the freshly mowed grass in my mouth," Don said with a slightly exaggerated grimace. The weight in his chest lessened a little at the small smile that tugged at the corners of Charlie's mouth, and he allowed himself to join in, his cautious grin accompanied by a few quiet chuckles.

Charlie surprised himself by laughing a little at Don's comparison, an action that he'd done alarmingly little of lately, and he looked over at his big brother as he moved in to defend his taste with an easy, albeit tired grin.

"That's a cheap shot there bro, especially since I've tasted the coffee you guys keep around here, and let's just say that not only is herbal tea better for you, but it's taste is nowhere _near_ as acrid."

"Ouch." Don faked a hurt expression, placing one hand over his heart for added effect, and reveled in the smile it brought forth from the young man beside him. Figuring now would be good-timing, he switched gears to his protective big brother side, trying to keep his voice casual to mask the change. "And speaking of 'better for you', I would think that getting a decent night's sleep once in a while would fall under that same category, wouldn't you?" Charlie paused a moment before nodding jerkily.

"Yeah, I've heard that," he sighed, raking one hand over his face to keep himself feeling relatively alert. Biting his lip, Don finally came to a decision and pushed himself off of the wooden top of the table to face his little brother.

"I've got an idea. Wanna hear?"

Charlie nodded wordlessly, his eyelids drooping every few seconds on their own accord.

"Okay, here it is: it's high time I head home for the night too, so what do you say to coming back to my apartment and crashing in the guest room? The bed's top notch, fresh sheets and everything, and the offer includes a ride back here later this morning so you can get back to whatever it is you're working on." With considerable difficulty, Charlie boosted himself off the table to stand beside his brother, giving him a wan smile.

"You don't have a guest room."

"Whatever; I'll take the couch and I just changed the sheets on my bed Monday morning - same difference. You interested?" If it hadn't have been for the genuinely concerned and hopeful expression on Don's face, Charlie probably would have declined, but as such he found himself nodding again as he responded.

"Alright, it's a deal. But on one condition," he said as he repacked his laptop in his bag and grabbed his jacket.

"And what's that?"

"I'm in charge of breakfast in the morning - I'm not sure I want to brave your cooking, no matter _how_ tired I am."

"Ouch again." Charlie openly smirked as together they made their way over to Don's desk where he turned off his computer and filed the scattered papers into the cabinet beside them. This done, they proceeded on towards the elevators and in no time at all were emerging into the dimly lit, virtually empty lobby where two night guards remained vigil, the clock on the wall above their heads reading four-forty-five in the morning. Don winced, feeling the lack of sleep catch up to him once more as he bid the guard goodnight and held open the door for Charlie before following him out into the chilled air, thankful for the alertness it provided; the last thing he needed was to end up sending his car into a ditch because he'd fallen asleep at the wheel.

Despite the late - or early - time of day, the lot was still half-way filled with cars, their owners ranging from the cleaning staff to the smaller flocks of lab and computer techs that always used the night to catch up on back-logs in tests to be run and paperwork to be filled out. Feeling a sympathy yawn coming on for their sakes, Don led the way to his black suburban, stopping to search his pockets for his keys as he reached the driver's side door. It took all of his will-power not to groan out loud as he realized that he didn't in fact have his car keys with him, and would have to head back inside and go all the way back up to his floor to retrieve them from where he now remembered leaving them in his desk drawer. However, as though he had read his thoughts, Charlie immediately reached into his own pocket and withdrew his car keys, handing them over to Don who simply stared at them as he accepted them, looking up again in time to see Charlie smirk at him.

"I wonder how long it's going to be before you remember that not only can I drive, but I do in fact own a vehicle of my own," he laughed, and Don gave him a sheepish smile before looking around and ultimately leading them once more to the car that he now recognized as belonging to his brother. Upon reaching it, he wasted no time in unlocking the back door and holding it open, the action causing Charlie to shoot him a questioning glance.

"Hey, you might as well catch a few Z's on the way, right? I mean, it's a big backseat; you should be able to lie down no problem," he suggested, and once more felt glad that Charlie didn't argue, merely nodded and climbed in, depositing his bag on the floor in front of the seats before lying on his side and curling up slightly, his eyes already closed.

Carefully, he removed his jacket and draped it over the nearly asleep form and, smiling a slightly at the peaceful sight, he was about to close the door when movement and hushed voices caught his attention off to his left, making him curious enough to strain his eyes and ears in an attempt to satisfy his curiosity and maybe quell his sudden unease. His attempt however had the opposite affect, and he found his hand unconsciously moving to rest on the butt of his gun in its hip holster, his eyes never leaving the truck six cars further down the line from him where he could see the outline of one person standing right beside their truck while the outline of another person stood right next to them, both of their voices seeming to Don as no more than whispers. He wasn't sure why, but something about the setting as well as the stance of each unknown person sent off alarms in his head and he cast one last glance down at his brother, already inching towards the pair.

"Hey Charlie?" he said quietly. The response was mumbled, barely audible from Don's position.

"Yeah Don?"  
"Stay put for a sec; I gotta go check something out." Normally such a phrase would have alerted Charlie to something being amiss, but at the moment, he was simply too exhausted, a fact that he proved by remaining where he was, eyes closed, unmoving.

"'Kay Don." Satisfied that he wasn't going anywhere, Don quietly shut the door to the car and drew his gun, deciding to make his way to the truck in question on the opposite side of the full line so that his approach would go unnoticed, just in case his gut instinct happened to be right. He hoped it wouldn't be.

Unfortunately, the closer he came, the more certain he became that his instincts had once more served him well, the tone of one whisper now sounding cold, malevolent even, while the other was obviously shaken and slightly panicked, the fact accented by short, rapid breaths. Unable to really overhear what was being said, he focused all his attention merely on getting there and, as he reached the car before the one that was his goal, took a moment to readjust his tired grip on his gun. Confidant that his lack of energy wouldn't cause him to slip, he at last emerged from behind his cover, immediately extending his arms out in front of him towards the area beside the truck and aimed at... nothing.

It took a full second for him to register the sudden silence of the lot, a half-a-second more to hear the scrape of shoes on the asphalt behind him, and another for him to whip himself around - and right into the arc of a swinging fist.

The blow was surprisingly powerful, catching him just bellow the left cheekbone so that his vision flashed white, clearing just in time for him to catch a brief glimpse of a woman being held in a choke hold before the one choking her swung at him again, this time at his stomach, leaving him winded, bent in half, and gasping for breath. He had had no time to recover and straighten himself out when he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt before a knee rushed up out of nowhere and made powerful and painful contact with his chest, that same hand moving with impeccable speed to grip his hair, pulling him up into a sort of standing position. And, with that same unnerving speed, his attacker elbowed him in his right cheekbone this time, sending him stumbling into the side of the truck, no more than a second passing before a leg shot out to kick him hard and fast in his side, sending him crashing painfully to the ground.

The shock that the attack had left him in was so high that at that moment, he barely registered a boot kicking the gun out of his grip, sending it skittering loudly across the ground, nor the slightly muffled yells that were presumably coming from the woman he had seen before, though he couldn't tell for sure for he had yet to be able to bring himself to unscrunch his eyes against the searing pain running through his head. _With my luck, I probably cracked it on the pavement, and get to add a concussion to the list of goodies_, he thought vaguely to himself as he released a pained groan.

What he did register however was a distinct crunch-like sound, then the sudden yell that was most certainly male, which was followed immediately by unmistakable sound of something hard coming into contact with someone's skull, after which Don heard the loud thump of a body falling down next to him, felt the whoosh of air it sent his way. He realized then that he was probably about to be killed along with whoever it was that had just been knocked out beside him, but he found that his thoughts were too scrambled from the hits to his head for him to think past one thought: how glad he was that for once, Charlie had listened, been too tired _not_ to listen, and had stayed in the car.

However, the pause between the thought and the bullet he was expecting stretched on, and he was finally able to crack open his eyes only to find that their attacker had vanished. It took a moment for his ears to pick up on the distantly approaching sirens, and he sighed shakily with relief, marveling at his good fortune as he carefully forced himself to first sit then stand, albeit shakily, and look around him for where the man had gone. The sound of a car's engine being forced to life via hotwiring pierced through the lot's near-quiet and drew his attention to his right, back down in the direction he had come from. Then suddenly, a car was whipping out of its space, the driver slamming down the accelerator so hard that the wheels spun in place a full two seconds before the car tore off towards the lot's exit, Don's eyes immediately shifting downwards to catch and start memorizing the license plate of the car that was being stolen since his body was telling him quite clearly that he was in no shape to give chase.

Don's heart came to a complete halt as he realized that he didn't have to worry about memorizing it - he already knew it off by heart; it was Charlie's car...and he had left Charlie sleeping in the backseat.

_Oh. God._

Without a second's thought, Don darted off after the vehicle, ignoring his body's adamant protests that running was the very last thing he should be doing right then, only pushing himself harder.

_Can't... can't let him take Charlie... I left him in the car... _why_ did I leave him there?... Why did he choose now, of all times, to listen?... God, Charlie..._

He knew he didn't have a chance of catching up with it but he continued to give chase, following as close behind it as his battered body would allow. He _didn't_ however, expect the backdoor to suddenly open and for a dark form that could only be Charlie to fling itself out of the speeding vehicle and onto the pavement, its momentum causing it to tumble towards Don for a full ten feet before it finally stopped. It didn't get up.

With a cry he launched himself over the last few feet between them and dropped down beside his brother who was sprawled facedown. It was with shaking hands that he carefully turned him over, but he simply could not find the words to express his relief when after a moment Charlie moaned quietly, slowly opening his eyes and immediately focusing them on Don. Feeling a slight pressure on his arm, he looked down to see Charlie's hand, its knuckles scrapped and bleeding, grasping at his sleeve and before Don could object, Charlie was pulling himself up, using his grip on Don's sleeve and the hand he had braced against the ground to force himself into a sitting position. He noticed then the ragged edge behind Charlie's breathing, the bleeding scratches that dotted his hands and face, the fact that his bracing left arm was now cradled carefully in his lap, and the fact that his eyes were closed again as though he were concentrating heavily on each breath.

To complete the package of panic that was rapidly swelling inside of Don's chest was the fact that Charlie had yet to say a word.

"Charlie?...How're you feeling?" He could pretty much guess the answer to that question, but at this point, he just needed to hear his brother's voice to reassure himself that he was going to be okay.

Charlie wanted to laugh at the question, thought seriously about doing just that, but stopped himself from doing so as he was positive that it would only intensify the pain in his chest. His mind itself was still reeling from what had just happened, having hardly had time to register what was going on before the man he'd thought in his tired state to be Don suddenly hotwired the car, the sound encouraging him to open his eyes to see that his brother had been replaced by a man dressed in black with a ski mask over his face. The only thing he'd been able to do was widen his eyes in shock before the car was careening away.

He hadn't given his plan much thought before carrying it out, his hand reaching up and grasping the door handle almost on its own accord, and before he knew it, the world was spinning end over end, his body feeling each hit on the pavement like a baseball bat. The end result: Charlie really didn't feel like he could offer any complete sentences, and so decided in the end on one word that would do justice to 'how he was feeling' right at that moment.

"_Ouch_."

If that one whispered word was anything to go by, Charlie was feeling just about as good as Don whose burst of adrenaline had suddenly and without warning died out allowing the pain to register once more, leading him to sit completely on the ground, legs stretching out carefully in front of him, a grimace dominating his features. As Charlie's world stopped spinning and his vision cleared a little against a nauseating dizziness, he looked at Don carefully and for the first time noticed his beaten appearance and could tell that he was in as much pain as he was. It was with great difficulty that he lifted his right hand and placed it carefully on Don's shoulder.

"_You...okay?_" he rasped, immediately following it with a cough and wince. Looking up at Charlie, Don realized that it was not a good idea to try shaking his head when the ground seemed to be tipping under him already, and so decided to stick to talking, even though that seemed to be draining a great deal of whatever energy he had left and sent a giant throb through his head with each word he spoke.

"No...you?" Charlie seemed to think hard about that for a moment, or at least try to - evidently, any thoughts that lasted over five seconds were too much too soon, and his little brother winced again before blinking hard and looking at him.

"_...No._"

Coming to a silent mutual agreement to simply focus on keeping themselves from passing out, they both merely sat there for a long moment, barely being able to bring themselves to look up at the guard as he ran towards them, his gun drawn and aimed off to his side.

"Hey! You two all right?" he called as he approached. Neither one of them answered right away and as he neared them, he could see why: they both looked as though they'd fallen off a cliff. When he at last came to a stop beside them, he cast a quick look around for any danger before holstering his weapon and unclipping the radio from his belt. The brothers barely registered the message he was delivering, but were fairly sure that they were not so out of it as to not be able to guess to whom the man was speaking. "This is Sgt. Perry Hoskins - I have two FBI agents and a civilian injured and need three ambulances at the following address..."

Tuning out once he knew for sure that their much needed medical help was on the way, Don turned back to Charlie whose gaze was now locked on the pavement in front of him, the look in his eyes speaking volumes of the fear and anxiousness that had come with the incident, and that he did not want to make known. Don sighed inwardly, wishing with all his heart that he could go back to the day where Charlie had begun thinking that he had to hide any 'weakness' from his older brother - go back to that day and do whatever he had to to change those thoughts. However, knowing all too well that what was done was done, no going back, Don decided to settle for doing his best to smooth another little part over.

"Charlie?" he said softly, resting a hand on his brother's knee so that he looked up at him. He allowed the pride to show on his face as he spoke. "That was really quick thinking on your part tonight - and brave too; I'm proud of you buddy." At that Charlie smiled shyly, averting his gaze like he always did when Don complimented him. Don swore he would never tire of seeing that reaction.

Their little moment was interrupted however as Perry finished talking with the emergency operator, crouching down in front of the pair but his eyes going to Don out of habit while Charlie opted to carefully lay down on his back, the semi-sprawled position being much easier on his injuries and making breathing a little less difficult as well. Don watched him carefully while he listened to what he was being told.

"EMTs are on their way Agent Eppes, and along with additional back-up, I took the liberty of having my partner contact the other three agents on your team - they should be arriving along with the others in a few minutes." The sirens, sounding much closer and now accompanied by the telltale ones of their ambulances, affirmed the guard's words and Don risked a careful nod, swallowing thickly in an attempt to clear his suddenly dry throat so that he could speak.

"Thanks Perry."

"No problem at all Agent Eppes." He looked uncertain for a moment. "Um, I've checked up on Agent Quinn, and she's out cold, but alive, and I've made her as comfortable as possible... is there anything I can do for the two of you?" Casting another glance at Charlie whose features, though still pinched, had relaxed somewhat, Don turned back to Perry with a slight grin.

"Yeah, there is: make sure that they don't run over us when they pull in." And with that, he lowered himself down to lay beside his brother, a position that he had to admit felt considerably better than sitting, and let himself relax a little beside him while they waited for the cavalry to arrive.

* * *

Swerving around another slow driver, Megan again swore under her breath, mentally replaying the two-second conversation she'd had five minutes ago in her head. When she had first picked up her home phone, she had not bothered to check the caller I.D, only the time on her nightstand clock, which read four-fifty-five in the morning. Exhausted and in no mood for politeness, she'd snapped out a 'hello' with about as much charm as one would expect from a cobra, ready to give whoever was calling an earful - that is until he had quickly identified himself as Sgt. Leroy Barnum, one of the two nightshift guards at the FBI building, and had informed her in much abbreviated terms that there had been an 'incident' in the lot involving Don, another agent, and a civilian, that all three had been injured, and that medical assistance and back-up were being called in. That was all she had to hear and, coincidentally, all he took the time to provide before abruptly hanging up. 

Luckily for her, she had been too tired to remove anything besides her shoes, her badge, and her holster when she had gotten home almost five hours ago, all of which she speedily donned before racing out her apartment door, snatching up her car keys as she ran, barely remembering to lock her apartment door behind her. As she had jumped into her car and started the engine, the only thing running through her head was that she should've known better than to leave Don alone, especially with everything that had been going on lately - the man was a magnet for trouble.

Seeing no reason to take her time, Megan had flipped on her car's sirens and lights and sped on towards the place that was a crime scene for the second time in four days, wondering just how bad it had been and what condition her boss and friend was going to be in as she watched half a dozen other unmarked FBI cars form an almost perfect line behind hers.

By the time three ambulances joined the high-speed procession, they were in sight of the building. Pushing even harder on the accelerator, it was barely a minute later that she was slowing down and pulling into the parking lot, allowing herself to be flagged into a space by one of the night guards who, for some reason, was standing right in the middle of the lot. It wasn't until she had turned off the engine and jumped out that she realized that the guard was motioning _every_ vehicle around the place he was standing in front of. As she was walking towards him to ask where Don, the other agent, and the civilian were, she noticed that the place the man seemed to be standing guard over was darker than the ground around it, even in the already dim lighting of the area. She was about five feet away when she stopped dead in her tracks, realizing what it was that the man was guarding: Don... and Charlie, both of whom were lying unmoving on their backs, their eyes closed.

Just as suddenly as she had stopped, she started walking again, sprinting over the last few feet before dropping to her knees beside Don, her hand instinctively reaching to check his heart rate at his neck. She couldn't help but start when his hand intercepted hers in a somewhat lax grip and his eyes opened, immediately finding hers.

"Tough luck Reeves - I'm still alive, meaning I still get to boss you around; don't let the fact that I'm lying down on the ground throw you," he said with a tired smile. Smiling herself in relief, she looked over at Charlie who was grinning up at her meekly. Following her gaze, Don gave his head a small nod. "Charlie's okay too - I think." The area was quickly illuminated by the arriving cars and emergency vehicles, allowing Megan to see in complete detail the nasty scratches that covered Charlie, as well as his swelling wrist and scuffed clothing, and Don's deeply bruised and scratched face, along with the boot print clearly visible on the side of his dress shirt. She frowned in concern and confusion.

"I think you'd better tell me what happened," she said slowly. She turned her head towards the sound of the approaching paramedics before returning her gaze to the brothers. "That is, _after_ you've both been checked out." When the two of them merely glanced at each other then aided one another in the seemingly strenuous task of sitting then standing without saying a word, Megan felt her concern deepen. She had been expecting a joking comment from Don, maybe a smart, calculating one from Charlie as was the norm; receiving nothing from either of them made her wonder just how bad off they had been.

It didn't help that while walking towards two of the ambulances that were parked side by side, Don waving off the paramedics that were trying to separate them, Charlie had to depend on Don's supporting arms to hold him up while he shuffled along; even Don seemed to be having a rough time staying on his feet. Deciding to talk with the guards later, Megan followed after them, helping Don to lower Charlie onto the bumper of the first vehicle after which she helped Don sit carefully on that of the second. Receiving two paramedics a piece, still neither spoke as they were looked after, Megan standing between the two, watching the proceedings and listening to Don's diagnosis.

"Could you tell me your name sir?"

"Don." Megan felt a slight clenching in her chest at the pained tone Don's voice had taken on but forced herself to push it aside, at least for the moment.

"Okay Don, where does it hurt? Are you having any trouble breathing at all?" the paramedic asked, timing Don's pulse at the same time as his partner gently examined the deepening bruises on his cheekbones and the slightly bloodied bump on the side of his head.

"It hurts to breathe a little," he said, but then hissed and flinched away when the paramedic that had been working on his face gently prodded the left side of his ribcage. Without hesitation, he carefully opened Don's dress shirt and lifted the T-shirt beneath to reveal the ugly bruise that marred his skin in the exact place where the boot print had been on his shirt. Acting more carefully this time, the paramedic used both hands to feel each rib, Don wincing from each touch.

"Looks like...three cracked, possibly broken ribs - the rest are fine, most likely just bruised. Also, it looks to me like this guy's got a bit of a concussion," he reported with a quick glance back at Don's slightly swaying form, and the other man nodded, writing the findings down on his clipboard before looking back up at Don.

"Alright Don, here it is: we'll be taking you to the hospital to reset those ribs, which shouldn't take too long, but they're probably going to want to keep you there for a little while to monitor that concussion," he said, and Don nodded carefully, but resisted when the one examining his ribs tried to help him up into the ambulance to sit on the stretcher.

"Could I have a minute?" he asked, eyes flickering towards his brother. Nodding his ascent, the paramedic with the clipboard returned to the front of the vehicle to wait in the driver's seat. And with that, Megan helped Don to stand and move over to where Charlie was sitting, frowning at the woman medic that was examining his wrist, her partner working on the written part. "How 'ya doing buddy?" Charlie looked up at him and managed a nonchalant expression.

"According to them, my left wrist is sprained and I bruised the majority of my ribs when I threw myself out of that car."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure what I said was that it could be broken," the woman holding his wrist said without looking up. Half-rolling his eyes with a sigh, he gave his older brother a small shrug, the movement reminding him that such actions were best left for when he wasn't so sore.

Megan's eyebrows furrowed together even further at Charlie's words and she looked over at Don, her expression one that demanded an explanation.

"I'll tell you on the way to the hospital," he said before turning back to Charlie. "We'll meet you there, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, and allowed himself to be helped into the back of the emergency vehicle, after which the doors were closed and they were underway. Don turned back to Megan, about to ask if she would be riding with him when David and Colby, having also been called in, strode over to the pair, each giving Don a surprised look.

"I'll explain later," he said, somewhat impatiently as his head throbbed again. All he wanted to do right then was down a few asprin and get his ribs reset, but judging by his agents' stances, they had something they wanted to report. David went first.

"Right, well, I talked to Agent Marcy Quinn from check fraud at the other ambulance, the one who was attacked tonight, and according to her, she was just about to head home when this car pulled up next to her truck and a guy got out. The car pulled out of the lot and the guy came up to her and shoved a gun in her face. She said that the guy started talking about how she 'wasn't going to be part of the problem anymore, but part of the solution', and saying other things she can't remember. Then he stopped talking for a second and they both heard someone coming towards them, so he covered her mouth with his hand and pulled her behind the other side of the truck. Apparently, a guy with a gun," he said, looking at Don, "came up to her truck, and her attacker caught him by surprise and, well, did that," he said, gesturing at Don's appearance, "before she bit his arm, and he knocked her out." When it appeared that David was finished, Colby jumped in.

"When I got here, I went inside with the guards and got a look at the security feeds which confirm Agent Quinn's story, and catches a plate on the car that dropped our guy off," he said, looking down at the notepad he held. "And if memory serves, it's the same plates as the ones that were on the car from the attack on Monday." Leaning over to get a good look at the page, David nodded.

"Yeah, he's right: it belongs to our guy's car - it was reported stolen by the owner last Friday." Colby glanced back up at Don.

"How 'bout it boss: do we get to hear your side of what just happened?" By this time Don was irately massaging his temples against the relentless pounding, and he squinted up at Colby.

"Since it's not completely important right now, I'm pulling rank and sending myself to the hospital first Granger," he gripped, causing Colby to smirk slightly. Don turned to Megan then. "You coming along? 'Cause I get the feeling that me and Charlie and going to be needing a ride home when we get discharged." Megan nodded with a small smile.

"Yeah, I'll follow behind in my car; the boys can finish up what little is left - let's go."

* * *

**8:30 A.M**

"Charlie, for the last time, I'm heading back to my apartment; I'll rest up just as good there as I would if I came back to your place," Don insisted, accepting his jacket from Colby who had retrieved it from where it had been left on the pavement where Charlie had fallen, dragging it out of the car with him. Having arrived at the hospital at around five-forty, it had taken Don a full two hours to convince his doctor that he should be allowed to leave, after which he had waited almost another complete hour for them to finish up with Charlie, who, as it turned out, had indeed only sprained his left wrist, but it had been a pretty bad one, warranting a large wrist-brace and a pain-killer. Don's only complaint was the doctor reminding Don in front of Megan, Colby, David, and Charlie that he needed to rest up for the sake of his head and his ribs, the parting comment resulting in Charlie's current pestering, backed up by that of his entire team who, after hearing what had happened from Don and Charlie, agreed that it would do the elder Eppes brother good to be looked after for the day by their father at Charlie's house rather than returning alone to his apartment.

"Don, I really do think it would be best," Charlie insisted as they exited the building and made for Megan's car, Colby and David breaking off to head back to the office, promising to call Don with any developments. "Besides, it would save Megan from going even more out of her way if she dropped us both off at once." Don opened his mouth to object further, but found that he simply did not have the energy or the desire to do so any longer, and with an exasperated sigh, he muttered a 'Fine.' before climbing into the front seat of Megan's car.

The ride to their childhood home in Pasadena passed in silence born of exhaustion from all three parties, though not uncomfortable in any way. Upon arriving at their destination, Don assured Megan avidly that he didn't need help settling down, to which Megan raised a disbelieving eyebrow, her gaze lingering on the arm that was wrapped protectively around his ribs. Sighing in the knowledge that her friend and partner just could never accept help when he needed it, she got back into her car.

"You two get some sleep; neither one of you is allowed back into the office until Saturday, and even that's pushing it," she said as she started the engine. "I'll be back Saturday morning to give you guys a ride."

Without waiting for Don to voice further objections at being forbidden to work for the next two days, Megan pulled back out of their driveway and drove off back down the street, leaving the brothers to head inside. Both tried their hardest to keep silent on their way to the stairs that lead to their rooms, neither wanting to alert their father to their presence right away so as to avoid answering his questions, but it appeared as though they wouldn't be having any luck whatsoever that morning.

"Don, Charlie! I was beginning to believe you'd _both_ fallen asleep at your offices this time," came Alan's cheerful voice. Casting a weary glance at each other, the two of them both mentally braced themselves for what was to come next as they heard their father's footsteps coming towards them from the living room. Hearing the steps abruptly stop, they both slowly turned towards where sure enough he was standing, staring at them with his mouth open and his eyes wide, seemingly speechless.

"Morning Dad," Don said, feigning a sense of being perfectly fine that his appearance completely disproved. Charlie remained cautiously silent. Don's words seemed to break the spell and Alan strode briskly over to where they both stood at the bottom of the stairs, putting a hand on each of their shoulders

"Donnie...What happened to you both!" he exclaimed as he took in the purple-black bruises and scratches displayed on both their faces, his anxiety only heightening as both of his sons grimaced slightly from the minute pressure his hands put on their shoulders. Charlie broke his chosen silence, knowing that the faster they related what had happened, the faster he and Don could get some much needed sleep and then get back to work on a case that was far from solved, and now increasingly dangerous.

He cleared his throat somewhat hesitantly, offering forth a tired, hesitant chuckle before starting.

"It's actually an interesting story..."

* * *

_TBC_


	6. Thursday: The Fourth Day, 3:30 PM

**A/N:** i would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone again for all of your wonderful reviews, and to appologize for the long wait, and give a reason for it: the past few months have been really hard on me, school and home wise, and so updating was put out of my mind for a while - but now things are starting to blow over, so here i am again:) i hope you enjoy this newest chapter, and let me know what you think:):)**  
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**Chapter 6 - Thursday, The Fourth Day (3:30 P.M) **

Don couldn't ever remember being this sore before, not since his first week at Quantico when he'd first started his FBI training and had worked out muscles that in all his years of baseball he hadn't even known he'd had. Grimacing several times in the painful task of undressing, Don finally stepped under the shower's hot, steady spray and almost groaned at the relief that it granted for his aching and bruised muscles and broken bones.

Memories of the events of that morning still sent chills down Don's spine that fought mightily against whatever warmth the water instilled; not only had the "Jersey Cop Killers", as they had been dubbed by Colby, just attempted, almost accomplished, another murder on government land, but in their get-away, they'd almost gotten away with his little brother, who in turn had damn-near killed himself when he bailed out. Charlie's terrifying stillness after said act had haunted his dreams, or nightmares rather, all through the six hours of sleep that he had managed to rake in after literally falling into his bed at around nine-thirty that morning so that now, at three-thirty in the afternoon, he had given up the idea of getting any more rest, and had opted for a shower to relax.

Relax. Humph. Don scoffed at the idea now, his thoughts returning to six hours previous.

Throughout Charlie's laborious recounting of the events, Don jumping quietly in every now and again for when Charlie became hazy on the details, Alan had been unable to hold in the occasional small cry of distress, particularly during Don's recount of the attack on him, and most certainly when Charlie had, with eyes fixed on the ground, told them both of when the masked man had first climbed into and hot-wired his car, all the way up to the experience of throwing himself from a moving vehicle, _his_ vehicle. By the time that they had both finished with reports on their injuries and what the doctor had said, Alan had gone at least three shades whiter, and waited only a moment before he ushered them firmly upstairs to their rooms, leaving them with orders to sleep as long as they could, during which time he'd make them both some of their mother's soup for them to eat when they were awake enough to come back downstairs. Although Don hated to worry their father so much, the unsettling evidence of their short-lived ordeal was in too plain of sight to shrug off his questions with his usual, "It's nothing; don't worry about it." And as much as Don hated to admit it, he really could tell that he was going to need at least a little help these next few days when he was at his sorest.

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Don turned off the shower and stepped out after which it took him almost twenty minutes to dry himself off and dress his lower half. This done, he carefully leaned over to snatch up the tenser bandage for his ribs and grabbed his shirt from the countertop before opening the door and slowly making his way downstairs, following the smell of cooking soup into the kitchen where he found his father moving between stirring the contents of the pot on the stove and chopping up vegetables for the large plate he had in front of him. He wasn't surprised that Charlie seemed to still be upstairs; he had been past exhausted _before_ being scared out of his mind and taking a high-speed tumble, so it was only reasonable that he'd be out for a little longer than Don. The agent was glad for it too; he had to admit, he really missed the Charlie that he had grown to enjoy and even look forward to spending time with, the genius with boundless energy and a spark in his eyes every time he would explain a problem or concept to Don and/or his team.

Don sighed again quietly to himself. These three months that had seen Charlie working non-stop on this case had stolen that spark and Don, at his best indignant older brother self, wanted it back where it belonged. _One step at a time Eppes - we gotta make sure we keep ourselves in working order in the mean time._ That thought in mind, he finally put forth a small cough to announce his presence and allow him to ask what he'd come down there to ask of his father. The cough drew Alan's gaze quickly from his cutting work, and his eyes immediately focused on Don's still battered, but thankfully a little less worn appearance, unable to help the small deliberate swallow when he caught his first look at the three large black-purple splotches over his son's ribs that signified the breaks. Shifting uncomfortably under his scrutinizing look, Don cleared his throat and walked a little further into the room, holding out the hand that still held the tenser bandage.

"Um...I could kinda use your help, if you've got a minute," he said haltingly. "Doc said that it'd be better if someone else did it - you know, so that the bones stay straight, and all." Blinking and shaking his head to make himself stop staring, Alan nodded his head and put down the knife he was using on the vegetables before quickly wiping his hands and taking the offered bandage. With Don's help in starting it off, Alan gradually and tightly wound the bandage around his chest, flinching slightly every time he felt the breath hitch in Don's lungs, or heard him give a quiet hiss of pain and looked up to see that his eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw muscles were clenched, as though it was all he could do to keep from growling out several expletives at the air as pressure was exerted on his broken bones.

He was almost as glad as Don was when he had finally finished, and, despite Don's adamant protests, helped him slip into his T-shirt before ushering him into a seat at the dinning room table that was already facing a placemat complete with a spoon and large glass of water. Don couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in mild amusement at his father as he came bustling back in with a large, nearly overflowing bowl of what he had to admit was the best smelling soup in the world - nothing could top the old recipe, nothing Don had tried to make or buy while in New Mexico even came close, and he'd tried quite a bit. At one point in time he had liked to think that, had his mother not been diagnosed with cancer first, prompting him to move back home, he would have returned to L.A on his own, if for nothing else but to taste this soup again.

Of course, a lot of things had changed since that thought had first entered his mind almost two years ago, and now he had found that he had two more very important reasons to be in L.A aside from the joys of this cherished childhood meal: Alan, and Charlie - especially Charlie. It wasn't that he didn't love his father as much, but being an older brother to such an adoring little brother held a certain amount of pride and appeal that Don, after several months of slight naïveté on his part, found he enjoyed, more than he'd ever admit to anyone. He'd even found himself looking forward to Charlie's company and help at his work, and had felt his big-brother protectiveness that he hadn't felt since before his teenage years start to resurface and grow even more, to the point where Don would do anything in his power to keep him safe, and never be able to live with himself if he allowed something to happen to him when he could have prevented it.

_Like it almost did yesterday_, he thought to himself, and couldn't help the small shudder that went through him at the thought of what could have been, at the thought of what the serial murderer who had stolen Charlie's car would have done to Charlie when he reached his destination and realized that he was still in the back seat...

The shudder did not go unnoticed by Alan but he knew better than to bring it up, and so instead chose to comment on Don's previous raised-eyebrow reaction to his fussing.

"What? Can't a father wait on his injured son any more?" he asked as he set the bowl carefully down on the mat, deciding at the last minute to move Don's water closer so that he wouldn't have to reach too far while his side was hurting as much as he knew it had to be right then. His question earned a chuckle and small grin from Don who had already snatched up the spoon, answering just as he was bringing up his first spoonful.

"Well yeah, but there's a difference between 'waiting on' and 'hovering over'," he said smartly, quietly slurping up the soup and visibly savoring its warmth and unique taste. Even as he was harrumphing indignantly, Alan couldn't help but smile at Don's obviously undying love for the meal that he and his late wife had made for the boys every time they had been sick throughout their younger, and even teenaged years. Privately, he had always marveled at the fact that, no matter how much either of them or their tastes changed over the years, this stayed the same. It was comforting, in a way, to have such a prominent past tradition, one started by Margaret, continued on even when both their boys were all grown up. Who knew? Maybe some day, they'd both have children of their own with which to share this secret recipe to curing colds and bad days, and wives to help them prepare it.

He had to resist the urge to snort out loud at his own wistful thinking; at this point, he had a better chance of being married, _again_, before either of his sons took a go at it - though there never seemed to be a shortage of ex-girlfriends and distant possibilities... Alan decided that he really needed to sit these two down and have a father-to-son relationship discussion. _When they aren't tired and half-dead, that is_, he thought to himself, then sighed, the action so quiet that Don didn't hear it over his own slurping. He could see now where half the gray hairs on his head had come from - his sons just couldn't seem to get enough of this dangerous lifestyle they had both chosen.

Suddenly Don's spoon was being replaced in his empty bowl and Alan blinked, wondering how long, or short, a time he had been sitting there, lost in his own thoughts, that Don would have had enough time to finish up such a large helping. Then he remembered that this was likely the seasoned agent's first decent, actual meal in the four days since he had begun working on whatever this new case was, granting him extra speed in the no doubt desperate need to have food in his system. Don was smiling broadly at his father's perplexed expression that shifted slowly between Don, and the empty bowl, and back again.

"Great soup Pop," he said cheerfully, that one simple meal already working wonders on making him feel and look more awake and up to par. "I don't suppose there's enough for seconds?" At this, Alan chuckled affectionately.

"I'll tell you what: go and get your brother so he and I can have firsts, then we'll see if there's enough left over for your seconds." Don's enthusiasm glowed on his face like it always had in the past when it came to seconds of the soup, but the care with which he stood from his seat as well as the fact that his hand never left his side while he strode over to the stairs reminded Alan of the seriousness of what had brought both his sons under his roof for the next two days, inadvertently invoking a frown. It didn't last long however, and soon he was shaking his head and moving back into the kitchen to grab the table settings for two more spots, willing himself to not focus on just how close he had been to loosing both of his sons again.

* * *

Don made frustratingly slow work of the stairs, finding that it hurt even more in going up than it had in coming down. He climbed each step slowly, trying but mostly failing to hold in quiet grunts and gasps from the relentless pain, each one increasing his frustration at being in such a beaten down state. It reminded him vaguely of the first raid he had gone on, during which time he had taken a rifle blast to the vest, the impact of which blew him back several feet and cracked several ribs. However, as his luck would have it, it seemed as though cracked ribs were not nearly as painful as the broken kind. _Lucky me_, he thought wryly. _I got to try out both_. 

His small bought of self pity didn't last long however, for as he neared the top of the seemingly endless staircase, his thoughts turned once more to Charlie at the same time as a muffled voice, Charlie's, emitted from behind his closed door. Frowning slightly as he finally reached the top, Don ambled over to the door, pressing his ear up against the wood to listen and see if Charlie would speak again, wondering what he was saying as well as to who. His brother's next words made him freeze up for a second, his eyes widening.

"_No...please...don't...don't do this..._" Charlie's voice was louder than the last time and now Don could pick up on the desperation and fear laced into the words, and suddenly he could move again, quickly sprinting into his room, ignoring the resulting pains in his ribs as he snatched up his gun and raced back to his brother's door, taking a moment to calm himself before holding the weapon in one hand at his side while using the other to open the door as quietly as possible.

When it had swung open all the way, Don suddenly felt entirely foolish and shook his head at himself, depositing his gun on the dresser by the door before moving to stand beside his brother's bed where he was still fast asleep but clearly in the throws of some sort of nightmare, his brow furrowed and covered in sweat, his breathing coming in quick, quiet gasps.

"_No..._" Don could hear the hitch in his voiced plea and knew that whatever it was Charlie was dreaming, it wasn't good and he was therefore justified in waking him up from it to come and fill up on the single greatest soup in existence. However, just as he was reaching to shake him, Charlie's voice skyrocketed from quiet to yell volume. "_NO_!" The sudden change startled Don into sitting clumsily on the edge of his bed, after which he reached forward once more to try and shake him awake. In that second, Charlie shot up in bed, his eyes wide in unspeakable fear as he cried out. "_DON_!" His brother's scream of his name sent his heart into his throat, and for a second he could only sit there and stare back at Charlie in shock as his brother realized that he was there, but that fear never left his face as he closed his eyes and bowed his head, his body beginning to tremble.

Snapping himself out of his shock, he ignored his ribs' protests and instinctively pulled Charlie into a tight embrace, his heart beating even faster as he felt the tremors in the small frame in his arms multiply, Charlie's breaths coming out more as quiet pants.

"Hey, hey it's okay Charlie, it's alright," he said, trying to push aside the shakiness in his own voice to calm his brother down. "You okay?" Hesitation, then a small nod into his shoulder. In the silence that followed, he could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs and turned his head to see his father suddenly appear, breathless in the doorway. He realized then that Charlie's cries would carry quite easily downstairs and what his father must have thought as he heard them. Don forced a small smile for Alan's sake. "It's okay Dad; nightmare," he said quietly, and understanding mingled with the concern in his expression as he entered the room and took a seat on the other side of the bed, placing a comforting hand on the shoulder closest to his, starting to rub in small circles.

"Are you alright Charlie?" Another nod, this one faster in coming than the last, though Charlie still didn't speak. After a moment of looking between the brothers, Alan got the feeling that this was something that needed to be discussed amongst themselves, sans parental participation. Catching Don's eye, he gave a small wink, then turned back to Charlie, even though he wasn't looking his way anyway. "Okay, well I'll be heading back downstairs; I made some of that soup that you both love, so when you're ready, come downstairs and grab a bowl," he said, and gave one final pat before standing and making his way back down to the kitchen to wait.

Don knew that their father had made the right move in leaving them alone when he heard the next words to come out of Charlie's mouth, their volume barely even a whisper.

"I can't let you die."

"What are you talking about Charlie?" he whispered, trying not to let on just how scared Charlie was making him. At Don's question, Charlie gently but forcefully pulled away so that he could look Don in the eye, knowing that all the fear he felt inside of him was reflected in his eyes as he saw the concern in Don's grow. He forced himself to swallow the bile that was rising in his throat as vivid flashes from his dream returned full force, and he focused on making sure that his older brother understood what he was trying to say.

"Don, you have to promise me something." The question was so filled with fear and apprehension that Don could at first only manage a nod, but then forced down the lump in his throat so that he could speak.

"Anything Charlie. What is it?" Charlie thought for a moment, looking for the right words, before finally looking his brother straight in the eye.

"Promise me that no matter what happens, you, both of us, will get out of this one," he said, his expression becoming pleading. Don's breath caught in his throat. _That must have been some nightmare to bring this on_. For his brother's sake, he forced himself to smile before pulling him back into a hug.

"I promise Charlie - _nothing_ is going to happen to me, or you. Okay buddy?" Charlie laughed briefly, but it held little humor.

"You might wanna take a look in the mirror Don." With a small wince, Don returned the laugh.

"Okay, let me rephrase that: nothing _more_ is going to happen to us. How's that?" Drawing comfort from Don's humor, as tired as it may be, Charlie pulled away so that he again could look at him, but this time allowed the ghost of a smile to grace his features.

"Sounds good to me Don." Don grinned, slowly and carefully standing up off the bed.

"So, what do you say we grab some of that soup Dad was talking about?"

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute - I just wanna get dressed first," he responded, slowly swinging his pajama clad legs out from under his blankets.

"Okay; meet you down there, and hurry up! I'm waiting for seconds!" He was glad to see Charlie's smile become a little more genuine before he closed the door behind him, leaning up against the wall that was beside it and hoping with all his heart that he could keep his promise.

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**8:30** **P.M**

"You gotta be kidding me! That wasn't a strike!"

Don's disbelieving yell carried to the kitchen, and Allan found himself sighing in relief. After he had gotten them both fed, he had thought and actually hoped that they would both head back to sleep. No such luck. Instead, he found himself battling for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening to keep one son out of the solarium and away from his lesson plans, and the other from phoning in for updates from his team or even taking a cab down to the office to check in on how things were going with the investigation. The squabbles and frustration had carried on until about an hour ago when the game had come on T-V, and Don had finally settled in to watch it, accepting a seat on the couch beside Charlie and a beer while he rooted for his team and Charlie fell asleep, curled up beside him. Alan had decided to leave them to it, draping a blanket over Charlie and placing a pillow under his head before heading into the kitchen to start work on a late supper, it being late because of the time spent keeping Don away from his work.

"Hey Dad, how much do you wanna bet that the next pitch is a home-run?" Don called, taking a liberal swig from his bottle. Thinking about it for a moment, Alan found himself grinning mischievously.

"Alright, how about this: if he strikes out, you head off to bed right after supper," he suggested innocently. Don didn't even have time to answer before the third strike rang out along with the cheers, and Alan's grin widened at Don's distressed cry that quickly turned into one of adamant protest.

"Hey! That doesn't count, you know that right? I mean, I didn't accept the bet before that happened! You can't count that Dad!"

"It's all a matter of opinion Donnie." He was in the midst of bracing himself for an argument when the front doorbell rang. "I'll get it; you just stay put!" he called, his foresight rewarded by an indignant grunt and the sound of his son flopping back down onto the couch. Wondering vaguely if he had woken up Charlie from his near comatose sleep by dropping down beside him like that, Alan opened the door and was surprised to see Megan standing there. "Well hello Megan! What brings you by this evening?" he asked as he stepped aside to let her in.

"Mr. Eppes - "

"It's Alan, Megan." She smiled at his correction.

"Alan, is Don awake?" He didn't have a chance to answer before Don was suddenly beside him and answering for himself.

"Of course Don is awake. What is it Megan? You got something?" he asked hopefully, seeing now that she was holding a folder in her hands. She eyed his arm that was wrapped protectively around his side as she answered.

"Normally I would have waited until you got back to the office on Saturday, but I figured you'd probably want to know this right away..."

"Spill it Reeves," he said, the hand that wasn't on his side resting on his hip. "But keep it down; Charlie's asleep in the living room." Her face became a grim mask.

"Don...we found Charlie's car." Both Don and Alan smiled, and Don moved forward to take the file from her.

"That's great! I guess this is the report...?" He trailed off when she didn't let go of it and he found that uneasiness was rising inside him. "Megan..."

"There was a note inside Don, taped to the wheel," she whispered, and Don's unease shot through the roof as he braced himself for what he now knew was in Megan's hands. "This may be more personal than we thought Don."

He didn't like this one bit, but he _had_ to know what was on that page.

As though she had read his thoughts, or maybe just his suddenly rigid posture and the set as well as fearful expression on his face, Megan pulled the single sheet from the file and wordlessly handed it over. Don didn't even realize that he was reading it out loud.

"'Nice to see you again, Agent Eppes...I - '" Don closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard before opening them again to continue, reading out one of the most foreboding sentences of his life. "'I didn't know you had a younger brother.'"

Alan paled visibly, but any further reaction, by father or son, was put off as Megan motioned with her head towards the living room. Hoping that that didn't mean what he thought it did, Don turned to face the room he had just left, and was dismayed to see that it was as he had thought: though slightly unsteady on his feet, and looking now as though he were moments away from passing out, according to the pallor of his skin and the completely blank look on his face, Charlie stood, staring unwaveringly at Don, and Don knew that he was thinking back to the promise he had made to him, and hoping, like Don had, that Don would be able to keep it.

* * *

_TBC_  



	7. Friday: The Fifth Day, 6:00 AM

**A/N:** hey there everyone! wow, this chapter was a hard one to write - kept on having to re-write it cause it was never coming out right:) oh well, point is, is that it's done:) yup, so r & r, but i'm warning you ahead of time, it'll be ten or more days before the next update, cause i'm headed out of town for ten days to act as junior counciler at a summer camp - and there aren't many computers around out there for me to update from:) wish me luck! -- and don't forget to review please:):)**  
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**Chapter 7 - Friday, The Fifth Day (6:00 A.M)**

With a loud gasp that echoed off the walls of his room, Charlie shot up in his bed, his hands grasping at the blankets as his body shook violently with each raged breath. It was a long moment before he could bring his eyes to focus on his surroundings, allowing him to see beyond a doubt that it had merely been a dream, not a horrifying reality. _But it felt so _real The images of his repeating dream sent a shiver down his spine and drew forth an inadvertent whimper, his eyes tearing up without him really noticing.

A soft knock and a voice at his door sounded faintly off to his left, the words being spoken barely registering.

"Charlie? It's Dad - is it okay if I come in?" Having woken up a few minutes earlier, leaving his room to have a glass of water, Alan had been returning to bed when he had heard suspiciously distressed sounds coming from his youngest son's room. The fact that he got no answer combined with the sound of rapid, panicked breaths only convinced Alan further that Charlie would forgive him the intrusion.

Carefully and slowly, Alan creaked open the door, allowing the light from the hallway to pour into the dark room and illuminate the shaking figure on the bed. His heart clenched in his chest at the sight of it, as well as the terrified expression etched into the new lines on his son's face that seemed to have appeared steadily over the course of the last three months. Just what had he been working on that was having such a profound effect on him? Don hadn't filled him in on what he may have found out since that night where he brought Charlie in from the garage, and Charlie had hardly been able to maintain a descent conversation with him since he had started whatever it was that had warranted his complete attention and devotion.

Stealing himself for resistance, Alan began stockpiling reasons in his mind as to why Charlie should open up as he cautiously made his way over and sat beside him. He didn't hesitate to place a comforting hand on his son's leg through the blanket, but was unprepared for Charlie to jerk at his touch and the shock from it caused him to pull his hand away slightly, watching as his son literally fought with himself to slow his breathing before finally looking Alan in the eye. What he saw there, combined with Charlie's cries the previous day, confirmed beyond a doubt that whatever it was that Charlie had been working on these past months, Don was involved, but not in as simple a context as with all the other cases; whatever it was had Charlie terrified for his older brother, and most likely for himself as well - and Alan was done with being left in the dark about it.

"Charlie - I want you to listen to me very carefully," he said in a low voice, and watched as Charlie's eyes slowly became more focused on him, though that fear never truly left. "As an adult, I realize that with the work that you do, for Don or whoever else, you can't give me all the details, and I understand that. However, as a father - _your_ father, and Don's, I cannot help but feel that I hold a certain right to know the basics of what it is that my sons have gotten themselves into - especially if it is endangering their lives." Charlie remained silent, but Alan could tell that what he had said was getting through to him and so he decided to push a little further. "I've heard the details behind a lot of yours and Don's cases; I'm sure one more won't hurt." Charlie's breathing had returned to normal by that time, even if his heart rate hadn't, and he averted his gaze to his knees before speaking in a whisper.

"It's pretty ugly, Dad."

"I've dealt with ugly before," he said lightly, inwardly happy that he'd finally gotten him to speak.

"Not like this." Something about Charlie's tone and the implication of his words sent a shiver down his spine, dashing the previous happiness and leaving him even more concerned, though he did well in his attempts to hide it.

"Your father's tougher than either of you boys care to notice; try me." With one last deep, shuddering breath, Charlie began, his voice even quieter thanbefore as fear crept back in.

"About three months ago in New Jersey, a yet unknown number of perpetrators started gunning down patrolmen - always with one shot to the temple and one to the chest," he said, drawing encouragement from his father's hand that had replaced itself on his knee. "Eventually they escalated to killing the officers' immediate family as well...their wives, children..." He swallowed hard, trying hard not to notice Alan's now slightly gawking expression. "After a while, they - they started going after FBI agents, and _their_ families as well. They've moved through several states, claiming a total of twenty-eight law enforcement victims, the total number of victims almost double that when factoring in the number of family members. And now... now they've come to L.A., where they've already killed three FBI agents from Don's office, one police officer, and one civilian - the attempt on Agent Quinn yesterday morning is the only one to have failed so far." His voice broke near the end of his summary as he recalled the events of the previous morning, realizing once more how close it had been, how easily Marcy Quinn's attacker could have ended hers, and his brother's life had the night guard not noticed something and called the police. Trying desperately to shut out the images burned into his mind from his recurring nightmare, Charlie brought his knees up to his chest, mindful of his ribs, gently hugging them to himself without bending the wrist that was still in the brace. The movement caused Alan's hand to slip down his leg, coming to rest on top of his foot, and the elder Eppes' shock kept him from replacing it on Charlie's knee.

It was a long moment of silence before Alan realized that Charlie wouldn't be telling him any more, the realization being followed closely by grim understanding: Charlie had been on edge since the very beginning three months prior, partly because of the horrendous nature and victims of each murder, but also largely because every FBI agent murdered was another reminder that that could've been _his_ brother, and that their families could've easily been himself and Alan. And suddenly all of Charlie's erratic behavior, all of his hours of tireless working and all of the sleepless nights... they all suddenly made sense on some basic level: Charlie had refused to stop until he found a solution to this problem, until the killer or killers were stopped, because until he did, every person murdered could be one less person before it was Don's turn to become a victim like all the others - and that was a truth that his youngest could not bare to live with.

"Oh Charlie," Alan whispered, placing a hand carefully against one tear-stained cheek. After a second he moved to sit closer to Charlie, pulling him into a very gentle hug. Completely disregarding any resulting pain, Charlie returned the embrace clinging to his father in search of comfort from the nightmare, both in sleep and reality that he never seemed able to escape. On the contrary, it seemed to be getting worse by the day...

By the time Charlie finally managed to convince his father that he was alright to be left alone and Alan at last returned to his own room after promising to make all three of them a good breakfast later in the morning, it was just passing six-thirty and Charlie knew beyond a doubt that he would not be sleeping any more right then. It was with a tired sigh that Charlie threw back the blankets and slowly, painstakingly changed into a pair of jeans, not bothering to change into a fresh T-shirt before carefully exiting his room and creeping silently down the stairs and into the kitchen. After making himself a cup of tea, Charlie quietly went outside to sit on the front step where he sipped the drink carefully, allowing it to gradually warm his insides while his eyes stared at the brightening sky, his mind somewhere else entirely.

In his head he was reliving in great detail the nightmare that had plagued him since his third week working the cop-killer case. The dream always began with him walking down the hall in Don's apartment building. He wasn't sure why he was there; he only knew with certainty that something was wrong, that something terrible was happening and it was up to him to stop it. But no matter how hard he tried, he could never make himself run towards the apartment at the end of the hall instead of walking painfully slowly towards the desired door. And as always, he would be no more than five steps away when two gunshots would ring out from inside. At this point he was allowed to run, and he would whip open the door, a scream dying on his lips at the scene before him: his big brother, the unshakable, invincible Don lying dead in their father's arms on the floor by the couch, blood pouring out from the bullet holes in his chest and head, pooling on the floor beneath them and staining their father's clothes and hands. After a moment, Alan would always look up at him, tears running down his cheeks as his heart-broken eyes bored into Charlie's, the words he spoke next drilling a hole in his soul.

_"You're too late Charlie; you weren't fast enough, and now Donnie is dead - you've killed your brother..."_

And before Charlie could beg for his forgiveness, a man dressed all in black with a ski mask over his head and a gun in his hand would emerge from the shadows beside Alan and fire a bullet into the side of his head, hardly waiting a second before firing a second shot into his chest, leaving him lifeless on the ground. It was then that Charlie would be able to scream, the cry carrying on it all of his pain and guilt, and it would continue until the gun was turned on him, and the trigger pulled back...

Charlie came back to reality with a jolt as the morning paper landed with a thump at his feet, the jerking of his hands resulting in a portion of his cooling tea spilling over the edge of the cup and onto his hands. The slight burning at the contact with the liquid went unnoticed as Charlie once more tried to force himself to calm down and to stop shaking. It took a few minutes but finally he was able to focus on the fact that if the newspaper had already been delivered, it meant that he had been outside for almost half an hour, putting the time at around seven-ten in the morning. Sure that his dad would be out of bed soon - even if his brother wasn't - Charlie carefully stood, shaking the drops of tea off of one hand before using it to pick up the paper and bring it inside with him. He went immediately into the kitchen where sure enough his father was already pulling out the orange juice, the eggs, and the spices he would add when he scrambled them.

The sound of the newspaper being plopped down on the counter drew Alan's attention away from the fridge and towards his youngest son who was standing in the kitchen's entrance, a mug of what was most likely tea held loosely in one hand. He didn't miss the fact that Charlie didn't look any more rested than when he had seen him almost an hour earlier and mentally kicked himself for not making sure that he had gone to sleep before returning to his own bed. He allowed a sympathetic smile to show.

"You look like you could really use a good pick-me-up this morning," he commented casually, returning to the task of retrieving the items he needed. Charlie chuckled wispily.

"You got that right," he said, taking a seat at the table as he took another sip from his mug. "So, what's on the menu this morning?" Alan didn't pause in his work as he responded.

"Well, I was thinking scrambled eggs and some French toast would go a long way as to giving you the energy you need if you're going to be going back to work tomorrow," he said as he began cracking open eggs over a large serving bowl. "I haven't decided yet on a lunch for the two of you; I'll be heading out to shop for it later this morning. If you want, you and your brother could make a list of suggestions that I could take with me." Charlie smiled into the next sip he took. Their father played an excellent mother hen whenever the opportunity arose, and he would have told him so if he weren't afraid of what repercussions such a statement would bring once Charlie had recuperated somewhat. He settled instead for short and sweet by way of response.

"Sounds good, Pop."

"Good. Well, now that that's settled, why don't you go and get your brother so that he can join us for breakfast."

"I don't think he'll be up yet." Alan harrumphed, still not looking up from his work, which was for the moment shredding some cheese to scramble in with the eggs.

"If I know your brother, he's probably been up for at least a few hours, trying to come up with a plan to get out of the house. All you have to do is get him downstairs, and make sure he accomplishes the trip in one piece," he said dismissively.

Still a little hesitant, Charlie carefully made his way back upstairs, already devising the least painful methods he could use to wake Don, who he was certain had to still be asleep this early in the morning. By the time he reached the door to his brother's old room, he had decided on rapidly pulling open the blinds, thereby using the sunlight as his weapon. This way he could also put enough distance between himself and the bed so as to avoid any pillows that might be made airborne as a direct result of the actions of an irate and tired FBI agent. With a wary knock on the door, Charlie called out Don's name with hopes that maybe that would be enough, and he wouldn't have to go any further, thereby risking Don's wrath at the early hour. Hearing no answer, Charlie swallowed hard and prepared himself for a confrontation as he opened the door, looking to the bed to behold... nothing.

Charlie blinked, his mouth opening slightly in confusion as he strode across the floor and opened the blinds, shedding light on the empty, unmade bed. His initial and minor panic was staved when he saw a note placed carefully on the pillow's surface. Picking it up, Charlie sat on the mattress' edge, using the light coming through the window to read Don's neat handwriting.

_Charlie,_

_Couldn't sleep - went for a short walk to clear my head. Tell Dad not to worry, I'll be fine and I'll be back in a few hours, give or take. See you later. And remember: NO WORKING, doctor's orders!_

_Don_

Charlie read the note twice before sighing resignedly as he stood, folding the paper neatly in half as he headed for the door, on his way back to the kitchen. Reaching the top of the stairs, he stopped for a moment, balancing himself with a hand on the banister as he listened to the sounds of their father bustling around in the kitchen, under the pretence that _both_ of his sons had continued obeying the order to rest and not to leave the house. He couldn't help but smile and shake his head at his brother's knack for 'forgetting' about his own set of doctor's orders, which included most especially the demand that he rest and not over-exert himself - both guidelines which he had already disobeyed. _Dad's not going to like this..._

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**6:55 A.M**

Reaching the corner of Atlee and York, Don stopped walking, pulling his jacket closer around him as he waited for the short line of vehicles to pass before walking as quickly as he could to the other side of the road. It was harder than he would have liked to ignore the warning pang that shot through his ribs, telling him quite simply that he had surpassed the timed relief of his dose of pain medication from the night before and should be sitting back in Charlie's house, receiving another pill, rather than out walking, in search of a specific house that was located ten blocks from his childhood home. The house he was looking for belonged to the late Sgt. Thomas Bradly, the most recent victim of the Jersey Cop Killers who, according to the file he'd looked through two days ago, had lived there with his thirty-two year old wife Neena Bradly, as well as his fifteen-year-old son Peter.

True to the note that he had left in his room for Charlie to find, he had been once again unable to sleep, but had decided to put his wakefulness to good use and was using this walk not only to clear his head but also head over to the new widow's house to ask her a few questions, generally about the days leading up to her husband's murder. He shook his head, cursing softly under his breath at the unbelievably cold and efficient manner of the murders; these guys weren't taking their time, simply moving from one target to the next, showing no mercy at all towards those who still had immediate family. On the same token, he found he still couldn't believe that Charlie had somehow managed to face this growing massacre for so long without saying so much as a word about it to him.

That thought caused him to pause for a moment in his walking.

Why _hadn't_ Charlie told him? He had said that he hadn't wanted to worry him and their father if he didn't have to, but still... there had been a time when Charlie would share anything that was bothering him with Don, even if it was merely a troubling or odd dream. What had changed since then? Had Don become less approachable? Had he become too focused on his work again, to the point where his family no longer felt the need to share things with him as much as they use to?

Another thought occurred to him then that silenced the others: what if Charlie's discretion of late had nothing to do with Don and how much time he spent working? What if... what if it were merely a sign that his little brother had finally grown to the point where he no longer wanted or needed to share all of his thoughts with him? Had Charlie out-grown his dependency on Don for all the little things, and now the big?

Don started walking again but found that he couldn't stop thinking about it, somewhat surprised that the idea of not being needed in that area of a big brother's territory any longer left him feeling a sort of loss. It was the resulting sadness that made him realize something else: despite all the times he had told Charlie, either through mere conversation or out of anger, that he needed to grow up and be like any other grown man, deep down he had always hoped and was glad that Charlie would seemingly remain his more adolescent-like self forever. As long as he stayed that way, he would still need Don, would still need his advice or opinions, and Don could feel like he was actually being a big brother for him - if he grew up, then Don would become more of a decoration, just along for the ride in the life of the unstoppable genius.

The four gunshots that rang out further up the street halted all thoughts and his gaze shot up from the ground at his feet just in time to see a figure, dressed completely in black and wearing a ski mask over his face dart out the front door of the house fifty feet ahead of him - Neena Bradly's house - a Glock .45 auto resting in his tight grip. In the time it took the man to head towards the porch stairs and start down, Don managed to draw his gun - which he was now immensely relieved at having brought along for a previously unknown reason - and was already running towards him, doing a fine job of ignoring the sharp pains in his broken ribs. He was thirty feet away by the time the man had managed to descend the ten steps to the ground and had hopped around and over the landscaping equipment in the front yard to get to the sidewalk. Unfortunately, the man chose that moment to look to his right, seeing then the FBI agent that was barreling towards him. Somehow doubting that this guy was going to listen to him, Don followed procedure and yelled ahead of him, aiming his gun while still running.

"FBI - freeze!" Just as he had known would happen, the guy turned to his left and broke into a dead run, steadily putting more space between himself and Don who was now literally battling with all of his will against his screaming ribs, cursing with all his heart the horrible timing he had for being injured. _Our one chance to catch a suspect in the act and I'm running half as fast as I normally can, up against a guy who could probably win the hundred-meter sprint hands down. Damn-it._

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Don pushed himself to run even faster but even though he was gaining a little on the guy, he could see now that the same car that he had seen leaving the scene of the first murders was parked at the very end of this street - within a minute, the guy he was chasing would be at the car and speeding away, leaving Don in the dust. _If ever I've needed to call in a favor from on high..._

Then suddenly, as though God himself had been keeping one ear open especially for him, the rotwhiler dog that had been sitting in a driveway the man ran by decided that it was in enough of a protective mood to attack this menacing black figure. Teeth and claws bared, the beast released a vicious snarl as it leapt through the air, latching on to the man's left arm. With a loud cry, the man jerked to a stop, nearly falling off his feet from the force of the dog's pulls. Seeing Don fast approaching, the man started to beat the top of the dog's head with the butt of his gun. Amazingly, the dog still refused to let go, and as Don grew nearer still, he sent out mental praise to the animal, promising to reward it after he caught this guy.

He should have known that he wasn't going to be that lucky.

Finally, out of sheer desperation, the man aimed the gun at the dog, pulling the trigger. The wild shot caught the dog in his front paw and it let out a piercing yelp as it hastily released the arm that it had attached itself to in order to sit and lick its wound pitifully. It took a moment for the gunman to regain his footing, and that moment gave Don the advantage. He reached out a hand and was just hardly an inch from being able to grab his shoulder, but at that moment the man sprang forward again, leaving Don's hand to grab frantically at the material of the ski mask. It caught both Don and the man by surprise when the mask came away in Don's hand, the man instinctively whipping around in search of the lost concealment. Don was able to get a single look at the man's face before he turned back round and darted off down the remainder of the street, hopping easily into the back seat of the waiting car, which sped off the second the door was shut, leaving Don, as he had feared, in the dust.

Finally coming to a stop in order to try and regain his breath while wrapping an arm around his side in an attempt to stave off the pain and subsequent nausea that was coming in waves, Don allowed himself a tiny smile - he had seen his face; by noon today, he will have met with a sketch artist and that bastard's face would be posted in every news bulletin in California by sun-down.

The smile quickly disappeared however as he returned the way he had come, coming across the wounded dog whose hysterical owner was crouched beside it, a phone being held to their ear with the hand that wasn't grasping the injured paw a few inches above the bleeding injury. Flashing his badge at the irate woman who was on the phone with the police, he assured her that he would see to it that the veterinarian bill would be footed by the city, seeing as the dog had aided in the pursuit of a dangerous criminal. The fact that she didn't have to worry about paying for the imminent surgery as well as the pride behind her pet's assistance to an FBI agent helped calm her considerably, even had her beaming with pride at the dog, whom Don learned was named Hutch.

Giving Hutch a quick, appreciative ear scratching, Don wasted no time in rushing back down the street to Neena Bradly's house, already dreading what he had a feeling he'd find. Careful not to touch anything that might hold fingerprints, Don nudged the door open a little further, allowing him to enter the house, his gun drawn and aimed in front of him.

"Mrs. Bradly? FBI!" he called as he walked carefully through the front entrance, all of his senses on alert, thereby temporarily dulling the pain in his side. Even before he reached the kitchen, he could feel an instinctive cold dread working its way up his spine, causing him to shudder inadvertently as he took a deep breath before rounding the corner to enter the room. He felt his heart sink into his stomach at the sight that greeted his eyes: Neena and Peter Bradly, both still in their pajamas, were seated at the breakfast table, their plates of toast and their glasses of milk lying untouched on the table while the both of them were slumped back in their seats, bleeding profusely from wounds to their heads and chests.

_This is how they work: they take out the cop, and the immediate family... wives, children..._

Don had to bite his fist in order to keep back a cry of distress. Why hadn't he had protection put on Sgt. Bradly's family? He should have known by then that the family of any victim was in just as much danger as the victim themselves had been... so why hadn't he thought to protect them before they could be gunned down? Why hadn't he thought of this while the grieving pair was still alive?

As easy as it would have been to drown in guilt right then and there, Don knew that he still had a job to do and knew that to do it, he had to detach himself enough to think clearly.

Quickly turning his back on the grizzly scene, he replaced his gun in its holster and pulled out his phone, dialing a number that he had long since memorized.

"Megan? Yeah it's me... our victim count just went up by two."

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**8:00 A.M.**

By the time Megan got to the Bradly residence, the area was swarming with squad cars and the house and its front yard had been bared with crime scene tape. Parking her car next to the news vans at the very edge of the pack of squad cars, she quickly leapt out and joined the chaotic crowd composed mostly of reporters trying to get the inside scoop, gradually managing to push her way through the tightly knit group. The second she reached the tape and flashed her badge and identified herself to a uniform cop to gain admittance, cameras and microphones were being shoved in her face, a dozen snooty reporters demanding answers.

"Agent Reeves! Don't the reports say..."

"Could you confirm any rumors about..."

"Agent Reeves - could you take a moment to comment on..."

Blatantly ignoring all of their requests and questions, Megan gladly ducked under the tape that the sympathetic patrolman lifted for her, immediately finding her way over to where Don stood discussing something with a man she assumed to be the on site M.E. As she came to a stop beside her friend, she caught the end of what the M.E was saying.

"...and so I would approximate their time of death to be at around seven this morning," he said, and Megan's curiosity was peaked at the frown that quickly found its way to Don's face even as he thanked the man who then hurried off to accompany the bodies to the morgue. She regarded his expression for a moment longer before calling him on it.

"Don? What's wrong?" Without looking at her, he spoke.

"I've just noticed something..." he said vaguely, the frown never leaving. She found herself frowning now.

"And that would be...?"

"Every murder we've seen so far... all of the victims' time of death was seven in the morning." Her eyebrows raised slightly.

"Huh - never noticed that before," she said in a low voice. "Do you think that that has some sort of significance?" After a minute more of silence, Don shook his head briefly as if to clear it, shrugging somewhat noncommittadly.

"Could be... or it could be nothing."

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but at this point any lead, no matter how small, is worth looking into." Don nodded his ascent and he started walking back towards the house, suddenly coming to a complete halt, his eyes wide. The concern that Megan had felt earlier on the phone when he had told her of the chase he had engaged in, despite his injuries returned somewhat.

"Don..." He turned to face her.

"I need to see a sketch artist," he said quickly, his face relaxing into a victorious smile, one that Megan found was spreading to her face as well.

"You saw his face?"

"I saw his face."

"You do realize that the second you're done with the sketch artist I'll be driving you right back home, where you were _suppose_ to have been until tomorrow?" Don's frown returned.

"We'll discuss that later."

"Hm - maybe I could phone your dad, ask his opinion on the matter-"

"Reeves..." Don said warningly, eyeing the mischievous glint in her eyes with extreme distaste before he sighed resignedly. "Fine, I'll let you take me home afterwards; just get me in to see the damn artist."

Megan couldn't help but smirk. _Score one for the profiler..._

_

* * *

_

**10:00 A.M.**

Taking a moment to unlock the deadbolt, Don quickly entered his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He knew that he had to be fast in collecting what he wanted from his apartment before Megan drove him back to Charlie's because she had promised with a perfectly straight face that if he wasn't back out in ten minutes, she'd be coming in after him - and he did _not_ want that to happen, according to her. He believed it.

The blinds that covered the windows made it more or less pitch black throughout each room but he knew his way around well enough that turning on the lights or opening some of the blinds wasn't at the top of his list of things to do. Instead he went to the fridge, checking to make sure that nothing inside needed throwing out, then he went to his bedroom where he quickly went about collecting a fresh suit and tie, and a change of socks and underwear so that he'd at least head in to work tomorrow smelling and looking fresh and not beaten down like he felt.

After he had collected his own razor and deodorant from his bathroom, he was headed through his living room towards the front door, satisfied at having only taken five of his given ten minutes, but stopped when he remembered something that he was surprised he hadn't thought of before: where was his wallet? He tried to think back to the last time that he had seen it or had to use it, remembering slowly that he had used it to buy supper for him, his team and Charlie the night of the attack, after which he had replaced it in... his jacket - the jacket that he had draped over Charlie in Charlie's car, the jacket that had just barely been dragged with him when he'd jumped from the car, during which anything in it's inside pockets could have easily slipped out, maybe fallen on the floor of the car to be found by whoever it was that had hijacked the vehicle, inside of which they would have found his driver's license on which his current address was printed...

He barely had time to finish the terrifying thought when the unmistakable click of a gun's safety being disengaged sounded from behind him. Putting the box carrying his things down at his feet, he raised his hands slightly and slowly turned around, finding himself face-to-face with the man that he had described in perfect detail to the sketch artist not half an hour earlier, the man having chosen not to wear his mask this time round. In his left hand was a Glock .45 auto, the same gun used in every murder, and in his right, a black, leather wallet that Don recognized immediately, even before the man spoke, his finger hovering dangerously over the trigger.

"Loose something Agent Eppes?"

* * *

_TBC_  



	8. Friday: The Fifth Day, 10:07 AM

**A/N:** hello again! yup, here it is: the next chapter. sorry to keep you waiting, but all the same, i'm hoping it was worth the wait;) r & r and enjoy:)!

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**Chapter 8 - Friday, The Fifth Day (10:07 A.M)**

Someone in the apartment next door coughed, loudly enough for the sound of it to travel effortlessly through the thin walls. The sound made its way to Don's ears resulting via domino effect in his suddenly dry mouth and throat that together provoked the echoing cough that Don stifled, reducing it to more as a nervous clearing of the throat as they tense stare-down continued. When the silence stretched on for almost a full minute without either one of them moving or saying a word, Don cleared his throat again, looking around discreetly for anything that would cause significant damage if thrown even as he spoke calmly.

"Okay... so... what now?" he asked. It was a few more seconds before he called off his search, realizing that the closest, most useful weapon was the lamp on the small table next to his couch, which much to his chagrin and slight fear was five feet to his left - he doubted he'd be able to move three feet without catching a bullet or two, never mind actually managing to get a good enough grip on the light source in order to throw it in the general direction of this armed intruder.

The first response to his question was a short, cold laugh that made Don swallow nervously despite the steely expression that he kept glued to his face as he waited for the man to speak.

"Now, Agent Eppes... or can I call you Don?" Don remained silent, his silence apparently being taken as consent. "Well, now Don, I'm thinking I just might take my time with you - it's been a while since I've gotten to use a good old fashioned punching bag... what d'ya think, huh, Donny-boy? Do you think you'd make a decent substitute? 'Cause it really looked that way yesterday morning," he mocked, and Don bristled at the memory of his and Charlie's close call, as well as the beating that he'd taken from this man, but still he remained silent, deciding that he wasn't going to give this murderer the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him - but then again, if he did respond, his responses could buy him a little more time to figure out a way to get the upper hand before this guy decided to start a fresh beating, after which he knew that his previous injuries along with any new ones would render him incapable of such complex thoughts. Any internal votes to stay silent however went out the window as the man continued. "On second thought, maybe I should just kill you and get it over with. After all, I've got a busy schedule today: gotta make a pit-stop in Pasadena - seems your brother jumped out of his car before I could get the chance to... properly introduce myself, so I figured I'd pay him a visit -"

"Don't you dare touch him!" Don yelled, interrupting the man's taunts with his angry, fearful outburst. "Don't even think about going near him! This is between you and me - you leave him out of this you son-of-a-bitch!" The words only earned him a smile and a slight shake of the head, the man taking a step closer to him.

"And what makes you think I would 'leave him out of this' Don?" The man looked at Don almost disbelievingly, as though what he was saying made perfect sense, was the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, you've seen all the details of the bastards crossed off my to-do list so far - you know how this works: you go down, your family goes down with you." Don felt his mouth open in surprise as the meaning of this man's words truly sank in: Don, and his family, had already found a place on the mass hit list... but _why_? What was so special about him, about _any_ of the men and women officers that were being slain? There was obviously a specific pattern, whether or not Charlie had found it yet... but _what_ was it?

The feel of the cold barrel of the gun pressing into his forehead brought his conscious crashing back to his present situation and spurred him to return his gaze back to the gun wielder's face, which now bore an expression that was a mix between the anger that burned behind his eyes, teetering dangerously on the edge, as well as a small dose of curiosity.

"Answer a question for me, _Don_: just what were you doing at Mrs. Bradly's house this morning?" he whispered, his eyes flashing no-doubt at the memory of his close-encounter with Hutch, probably something that was far from his finest moment, as well as being what had nearly gotten him caught. "I know for a fact that they'd have you on medical leave for at least a few days - you had no place being anywhere but at home, resting up." Don snorted quietly at that, his face brandishing a bravely mocking smirk.

"You sound like my partner," he said calmly. The murderer's eyes narrowed, and without warning, he suddenly brought his gun-hand back and cracked Don on the right side of his head with the butt of the gun, drawing a sharp cry from Don as his head was whipped back from the painful impact. Staggering back a few steps and barely managing to keep himself upright, Don squeezed his eyes shut for a second as he cautiously touched two fingers to the gash that had opened on the side of his head. Opening his eyes against a suddenly roaring headache, he regarded his blood-smeared fingers through his slightly blurred vision first with dazed fascination, which quickly simmered down into an anger whose strength was rapidly catching up to that of the gunman's. He hadn't yet looked up again before he once more felt the barrel press itself into the center of his forehead and the man spoke up again.

"You didn't answer my question, Eppes," he hissed, and Don looked up in time to see him bring up his left hand so that both of his hands gripped the gun securely. "_What_ were you _doing_ at _Mrs. Bradly's house_?" The extra emphasis that he placed on some of his words, as though Don were having trouble comprehending them, merely served to increase the anger that was nearing the breaking point, and he slowly lowered both of his hands to his sides as the fingers curled into tight, clenching fists. His response was automatic, his eyes never leaving the murky green ones that they had locked with in a silent battle of wills.

"_My job_," he spat back, his voice a furious whisper. His tone took on a lethal key as he inclined his head a little before asking a question of his own. "What about _you_?" The man's lips curled into a cruel, inhuman smile as he answered.

"The same as you - _my job_: killing those that have no right to keep on living, breathing," he said, a pinch of sick satisfaction seasoning the chilling words that were already starting to help themselves to a piece of Don's heart. As hard as he tried, he couldn't keep from talking back, something that, given his situation, wasn't entirely highly recommended by most of the experts in this field.

"What, your _job _is to slaughter innocent women and children who've got way more of a right than you to be breathing right now? Is that it, you sick bastard?" He was a little surprised at the gutsiness of his own remarks, and found himself swallowing hard again as he awaited a reaction. That terrible smile grew until it entirely consumed whatever part of this man's features that might have been humane, and once again without warning, the man used the butt of his Glock to deliver another stunning blow to the same place on Don's head. He could feel the gash grow slightly deeper and wider with the abuse, leaving him feeling suddenly twenty-times more light-headed as he once more staggered. It was even longer this time before he was able to push aside the dizziness enough to glare back up into this man's suddenly stony features.

"Like I said: they had _no right_ to keep on living, not after Murbarry... not after how many died needlessly..." His voice trailed off, and his statement left Don blinking in surprise, his thoughts moving at lightening speed as he tried to connect the dots; Murbarry... he recognized that name from somewhere, he was sure of it... and what about the rest of the statement? Who had "died needlessly"?... He _knew_ that he recognized the whole thing, but the problem was placing the recognition with an actual event, something that his mind seemed to forbid him to do. This man however didn't seem prepared to give him the time he'd need to piece everything together as he once more jabbed the barrel into Don's forehead, not enough to leave a mark but enough to aggravate the pounding headache that both blows from the gun's steal body had left behind in their wake, causing Don's brow to furrow against the resulting pain while the man let out a short, quiet chuckle. "You know what? Since you've worked so hard these past few days to track me and my guys down, I'll even let you have your last words before I kill you." He studied Don's face when the agent remained stubbornly silent. "How 'bout it Don? Got any last words?" For a long moment, Don seriously considered simply telling this cold-blooded killer to go to hell, but then a very important thought occurred to him, or rather a very important memory returned and displayed itself in his mind's eye. And so, rather than voice his original sentiment, he cocked his head, feigning calm curiosity as he spoke.

"I'd like to ask you just one question." The man smirked.

"I guess I can grant a dead man's last request - fire away." It was Don's turn to smirk.

"Before you found and let yourself into my apartment...did you get that dog-bite looked at?"

And before the man could counteract the move, Don's hand shot out and he dug all of his fingers into the man's left arm, where Don knew Hutch had dug in his teeth a mere three hours ago. The man screamed, the gun falling from his hands as Don strengthened his grip, causing the wounds to reopen and start to bleed once more. Taking advantage of the distraction that his pain presented, Don landed a solid punch to the man's jaw, sending him sprawling onto his back. All at once Don's hands went to his belt, one searching for his cell phone, the other for his gun, neither finding anything as he remembered too late that he'd left both items in Megan's car when he'd left the crime scene with her earlier.

The man recovered quickly and took hardly a second to gauge where Don was standing before his leg shot out in a sweep-kick, connecting with the backs of Don's legs so that he fell hard on his back, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Clearly his rage at being attacked had taken over his common-sense, and so instead of reaching once more for his gun, the assailant quickly scurried over Don's side, both of his hands going immediately to Don's neck where he squeezed with all of his might. Having not had a chance to take a deep breath after hitting the floor, it was only a matter of seconds before Don felt himself growing weaker, his struggles slowing even though, because of the injuries sustained the previous day, they hadn't been up to par in the first place, only serving to cause him more pain. But no matter how hard Don managed to hit him and no matter how many times, the man's grip was relentless until at last his vision began to gray at the edges.

There was a moment, as he felt the life slowly ebb out of his body, where time all but froze and his thoughts were at a different place and time, his flashing memories taking him back to what was one of his absolute favorites from his younger years.

--

It hadn't started out as a good day, it had in fact been one of the worst beginnings in all of Don's twenty-one years, that he could recall at least; he had promised his parents that he'd come home from college for the Christmas break, and so had bought a bus ticket to Pasadena. However, when he'd reached the bus station with the bag that he'd packed for the two weeks he'd be there, he'd found out that the time on his ticket had been incorrect, and that his bus had already come and gone without him. And so, knowing how disappointed his parents and Charlie would be if he didn't make it down to see them, he'd spent two hours fighting with the bus officials in order to get them to exchange his ticket, putting him on the last bus leaving for Pasadena. It hadn't even ended there: the bus he'd finally managed to get on broke down on the road, leaving him to walk for another three hours in order to get to the bus depot with his heavy pack putting a dent in his shoulders, during which time it'd started pouring rain, leaving him soaked to the bone and shivering uncontrollably by the time he finally reached and entered the depot at around five at night.

His mood now nothing short of stormy, he'd started looking around the parking lot only to realize that neither his dad's nor his mom's car was there, meaning that when he hadn't arrived when he'd said he would, they'd probably gone back home to await a call from him, either telling them that he'd had to take a later bus or that he wouldn't be able to make it home after all. With this knowledge, he'd started grumpily towards the payphones to give them a call when he'd suddenly felt a soft tug at his sleeve, spurring him to turn around where he'd found himself looking down into his fourteen-year-old brother's deep brown eyes, who were filled only with happiness and love. Lending Don a sympathetic smile for how wet he was, he'd held up a tall thermos, which Don discovered, after opening it, to be filled to the brim with sweet smelling hot chocolate. Shocked at the gesture, his bad mood erased, Don had taken a moment to study Charlie's appearance, finding him to be soaked from head to toe, his normally wild curls now limp and dripping as though he'd walked all the way to the bus depot in the same pouring rain that Don had been in... just so that he could be there to greet his big brother with a loving smile and a hot beverage to warm him up.

He'd returned his surprised gaze to his little brother's face in time to see Charlie's smile broaden, his eyes twinkling as he spoke.

"Welcome home Don," he'd said. "It's really great seeing you again." And in that moment, any and all anger that Don had ever felt towards Charlie, any resentment he'd harbored when Charlie's gift had been discovered or while Charlie was attending high school with him was pushed aside, far beyond the reaches of his constant thought, and he'd dropped his pack and placed the thermos on the ground, using both arms to pull his little brother towards him and envelop him in a tight hug that lasted several minutes. When at last he'd pulled away, he'd knelt down to his brother's eye-level, positively beaming as he ruffled Charlie's soaked hair affectionately.

"It's great seeing you too Buddy - I missed you." And after taking a minute to call their parents, who'd been worried sick both when Don hadn't shown up as well as when they'd discovered Charlie had gone missing, and asking them to come pick them up, Don had sat down with Charlie on the benches, sharing his hot-chocolate with him while they'd listened to Christmas carols over the station's loudspeaker and had caught up on most of the important events that had taken place since they'd last been together. Don had even endured a long math talk that lasted until their parents showed up, and he'd done it with a smile on his face that lasted until long after they'd finally arrived home, as he'd realized that he really didn't mind his little brother's math talks all that much, not really.

That Christmas was the best that he could remember, having been the first where Don had let go of the harsh feelings, and had just allowed himself to enjoy being an older brother to such an adoring younger one.

--

And now, as the gray at the edges of his vision slowly began to encompass the rest of it, he found himself smiling at that memory, glad as ever that they'd given their mother that last perfect, family Christmas before he'd left for Quantico, and even more glad, as he looked back on his life, that his time with Charlie hadn't all been bad. Oxygen-deprived and rapidly fading, his mind seemed to forget the imminent danger his brother would be in as soon as he'd gone and focused merely on the good times they'd had, both alone together as well as with their parents.

As his smile disappeared and his eyes began to close, his mind barely registered the crashing of his apartment door being broken down, nor did he hear a familiar voice yell something before the squeezing hands were gone from his throat, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

**10:05 A.M**

Even though it had only been five minutes since Don had gone up, Megan's fingers were already tapping against the steering wheel of her car in a mixture of impatience and nervousness. She couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but ever since she'd pulled to a stop in front of Don's apartment building, she had felt a pit of unease settle in her stomach and begin to grow. It had been because of this instinctive uneasiness that she'd delivered the threat to Don that she would not hesitate to come up there and drag him back to the car in the event that he took more than ten minutes to collect what he had wanted to bring back to his brother's house. The feeling had intensified so much when Don left the car that she'd almost gotten out and insisted on coming up with him, but she'd stopped herself just in time, shaking her head at the look that Don would no doubt give her had she insisted such a thing without a reason to be doing so. Honestly, what would she tell him? '_I'm coming up with you 'cause I got a bad feeling about this?_' No; it was probably nothing, just the result of working almost from dawn 'till dusk on this case for the past four days as well as the shock that had come from Don and Charlie's close call the day before - she had absolutely no reason to be worried right now...

Then why was she practically counting the seconds left before she could have a reason to burst into his apartment, her gun within easy reach on her hip?

It was around ten-o-seven (and forty-six seconds) when a ringing from the back seat startled her out of her worrying and she reached back to grab Don's cell phone from where he'd put it earlier, hesitating for only half a second before answering it.

"Hello?" The voice that responded sounded confused.

"Megan? Where's Don? And why do you have his cell phone?" She shook her head a little and smiled at Alan's immediate concern for his son, which seemed to overrule the frustration that he had no doubt originally been intending on showing since he'd first discovered that Don had left that morning.

"It's okay Alan - Don's gone up to his apartment to get a few things; I'm waiting in my car to drive him back to yours and Charlie's place when he's done." She heard him sigh and could tell through the gesture that now that he knew that his eldest was safe and on his way home shortly, he was back to being frustrated that he'd left in the first place.

"Megan, what was Don doing at that crime scene this morning?" he demanded softly, and Megan winced slightly for Don, knowing that the seasoned agent, for all of his toughness and resolve, was in for a solid lecture when she finally did manage to get him back into the care of his mother-henning father. "I wake up to find that he's gone, and turn on the news to see him standing at the scene of a double-homicide... I thought he was on medical leave until tomorrow!" It was Megan's turn to sigh now, joining Alan a little in his frustration towards Don.

"Well, Mr. E- Alan, according to him, he was out walking this morning to clear his head and decided to head over to Mrs. Bradly's house, while he was in the neighborhood, to ask her a few questions - Don got there right as soon as our guy was leaving, and he almost apprehended him, and got a good look at his face..." She trailed off, realizing that she wasn't actually answering his question so much as she was dodging around it. She sighed again. "In short, yes, Don is suppose to be on medical leave until tomorrow, but I can't ever remember him willingly staying away from the job for any other reason other than he can't walk on his own two feet. You know just as well as I do that it's a miracle in itself that he stayed away from the case for the entire _day_ yesterday." Alan couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Yes, I know - Don will be Don; I can't change that, though not through lack of trying." There was a long pause then, as though he were convincing the worrying-father half of himself to calm down for a while. When he spoke again, his tone was one of good-natured resignment. "Could you just tell him that I won't be here when he gets back? I'm going to be getting some groceries for supper tonight, and I'll have my cell phone on if he needs to get a hold of me." Megan smiled.

"Sure Alan, I'll tell him."

"Alright, well, I'd best get going then - I need to get that shopping done, and you no doubt have some sort of work that you need to be doing... but would you like to maybe join Charlie, Don and myself for lunch later?" Her smile broadened at the prospect of having real food for a change.

"That sounds wonderful - I'll be there."

"Good - so until then, have a good day Megan."

"You too Alan - oh, and how is Charlie doing?" The pause this time was much longer, leaving her thinking that he'd already hung up until he finally responded, his voice oddly distant, containing barely veiled concern.

"He's doing...alright, I suppose - seems he's still a little shell shocked from the incident yesterday morning, and he hasn't really had a decent sleep since he started working this case a few months back, but he seems to be a little more relaxed about it since you all stepped in to help." Megan nodded to herself; she too had noticed the haggard way about Charlie's appearance of late, being concerned on her own level, and found herself feeling relieved that he'd improved somewhat.

"Glad to hear it. Tell him that we all send our regards, and we're looking forward to having him back at the office tomorrow."

"I can certainly do that. See you in a few hours."

"See you then."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Click.

Once Alan had hung up, Megan returned Don's phone to its place in the back seat of the car and then returned her gaze to the clock in her dashboard, shocked to see that it was already ten-eleven - still no Don. The unease that had stayed hidden for the duration of the phone call suddenly sprang back out into the open, growing to such heights that she finally gave in and exited the car, locking it behind her before heading into the building and taking the elevator up to Don's floor. However, the closer she came to his apartment door, the more she found herself suddenly doubting her need to go after him, but managed to stifle the doubt with the logic that he _had_ gone over the time-limit, giving her every right and reason to bring him back out to the car by force. The image made her smile as she went to knock on the door. Her hand froze in its descent however when a loud crash, like that of something heavy being knocked to the floor, made its way to her ears through the wood of the door, followed closely by another.

"Don?" Her call went unanswered, and when she pressed her ear up against the door, she could just barely make out what sounded suspiciously like someone thrashing about, their feet occasionally pounding on the floor. It took her half a second to decide her help was needed and one hand unholstered and gripped her gun while the other shot forward to turn the doorknob. Locked - shit. "Don!" she called again, and again got no answer as she took a few steps back from the door, allowing her enough room as she delivered a solid kick to the door near the knob, sending it crashing inwards and granting her access to her partner's home.

Running in, her blood froze at the sight before her: Don, laying on the ground, hardly moving and bleeding heavily from a gash on the right side of his face, with a man dressed in black crouched at his side, both of his gloved hands wrapped tightly around Don's neck, clearly cutting off his air. It took her a split-second to snap out of her shocked haze before she took two steps closer.

"FBI! Release him!" she yelled, her voice somewhat hoarse. The man looked up from his task and Megan was only a little surprised to see that it was the same man that Don had only that morning chased away from the scene of the murders, and described in perfect detail to the sketch artist. His face contorted in anger and before Megan could get off a shot, he dove to the side, snatching up the gun that had lain there and firing wildly in Megan's direction. She just barely missed being hit as she threw herself behind the sofa closest to her, the bullets lodging themselves into Don's doorframe and the wall beside it instead. Taking only a second to breathe deep, she returned fire as the man took off down the hall, moving further into Don's apartment. Quickly hauling herself to her feet, she ran after him, arriving in front of the bathroom just in time to see the man's foot disappear through the window. Momentarily stunned by the prospect of the man killing himself by taking a plunge to the ground, she ran up to the window, finding the man to already be half-way down the fire-escape, at the bottom of which a familiar black car sat waiting, the engine running.

Knowing that she had no hope of catching up to him before he'd reached the car, Megan called out to him to 'freeze' one last time before emptying the rest of her clip down at the man. He had just reached the bottom of the escape when he let slip a cry of pain, his free hand shooting up to grip the top of his ear where the last of Megan's bullets had taken off the top. He looked back up at her then, his eyes flashing in fury before he raised his gun once more, squeezing off a few rounds that forced Megan to duck back inside in order to avoid being hit, and when she looked back out, the back door of the car was closing, the car wasting no time in speeding off amidst a barrage of squealing tires and burnt rubber.

Seeing that there was nothing more to be done in apprehending their suspect, Megan turned away from the window and raced back to the living room where she was dismayed to see that Don hadn't moved from his place on the floor, his eyes closed, face pale, features slack. Replacing her gun in its holster, she immediately dropped down beside him, searching for a pulse on his rapidly bruising neck. More than relieved to find it relatively strong, she was equally so to find that he was still breathing, albeit too shallowly. Figuring that he must have passed out from lack of oxygen, she quickly grabbed a pillow off the couch beside her, carefully lifting Don's head and placing the pillow under it. Leaving his side only to retrieve a clean cloth from his kitchen, she returned seconds later, applying pressure to the gash after mopping up some of the blood that had trailed down the side of his face. It was a moment longer before she realized that, seeing as she didn't know what other injuries he might have and he still hadn't regained consciousness, it was probably in Don's best interest that she call an ambulance.

She searched around for a moment in her pocket before finally, while keeping one hand at work in pressing the cloth to the gash, pulling out and opening her cell phone. She'd already pressed the 'nine' and was just on the verge of pressing the 'one' when a movement from the floor caught her eye and she looked up from her phone to see Don's head loll towards her.

"Don?" At the sound of her voice, Don frowned slightly, gradually opening his eyes to stare up at her, confusion written across his face.

"_Megan_?" His voice was little more than a raspy whisper and rather painful to use, resulting in him squeezing his eyes shut again as ragged coughs assaulted him.

"Hold on Don, I'll get you some water - just one second," she promised, and ran back to his kitchen to retrieve a cup of the cool liquid and bring it back to him where he was already struggling into a sitting position. "Easy, take it easy boss - just lean against the couch... that's it. Now slow sips, don't give your throat more than it can handle at once." Her cautioning was met with a nod of understanding as Don gratefully took the offered glass in a slightly shaking hand, which slowly brought it to his lips. He took several careful gulps, after which Megan wordlessly accepted the glass back from him as he leaned back once more against his couch, closing his eyes in relief as he breathed deep, refreshing breaths of air into his previously starved lungs. When he opened his eyes again, he found Megan regarding him with a rather concerned expression. Trying to alleviate the seriousness of the situation a little, he allowed himself a small grin as he spoke, his voice somewhat stronger though still understandably rough.

"You came up... I guess that means I surpassed my time-limit?" As he had hoped, his question drew forth a wan smile from his partner.

"Yeah - you went a few minutes over," she said, allowing her relief at his being all right to show in her voice. His face took on a serious expression, and his voice a serious tone, but the spark in his eyes gave away the joking behind his words.

"I can see why you came in after me - that's a pretty serious offence. Rest assured Agent Reeves, it will not happen again," he said, and Megan smiled again, giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

"I'll let it slide this time, but make no mistake: next time I set a time-limit and you go over, I will _not_ hesitate to come in and drag you out by your ears." The image her statement put in his head drew forth a laugh from Don before he could realize that it wasn't a good idea to be laughing just then, and the laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit. Squeezing his eyes shut once more, Don curled in on himself a little, trying desperately to catch his breath without further aggravating his ribs which had chosen this moment to remind him sharply that they had in fact been broken little more than a day ago.

When he was at last able to reopen his eyes, his gaze aimed at the floor, he could feel the glass being pushed into his hand and he accepted it gladly, this time continuing to sip at it until he'd drained the rest. The water did wonders in soothing his aching and dry throat and he smiled over at her.

"Thanks Megan." She returned the smile, reaching a hand down beside her to retrieve her previously discarded phone as she spoke.

"No problem Don, just sit back and relax for a while - I'm going to call in the paramedics to give you a once-over, just in case." He nodded tiredly as the ache in his side increased exponentially, making him almost certain that the struggle had unaligned his broken ribs. He really wasn't looking forward to having them re-set, but knew better than to delay and risk making it worse for himself.

"That might be a good idea," he said, leaning back a little further in an effort to make himself comfortable for the wait. Returning her attention to her phone, she at last pressed the 'one' button twice, and was just about to hit the 'send' button when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Don stiffen, and looked up at him as his eyes widened.

"Don? Don, what is it? What's wrong?" she asked hurriedly, and felt her heart skip a beat when Don finally turned to face her, terror shining brightly in his eyes.

"We - we have to get to Charlie's house - _now_," he whispered, and before Megan could stop him he pushed himself to his feet. Swaying dangerously under a sudden dizzy-spell, he probably would have fallen back to the ground were it not for Megan quickly standing and moving next to him, supporting some of his weight until the dizziness passed and he stood up straight again. Her hands did not relinquish their place on his shoulders however as she stared at him, feeling the same unease that she'd felt earlier start to bubble once more in her stomach.

"Why do we need to go to Charlie's? What's going on Don?" she demanded softly. He was already moving away from her and towards the front door, not stopping until he'd led the way to the elevator and pressed the button to go down.

"Before he tried to kill me, the son-of-a-bitch said that he would go after Charlie next," he hissed, lunging into the elevator the second the doors opened, hardly waiting for Megan to follow before he slammed the button that would take them down to the lobby. Shocked and rendered silent by the uneasiness that seemed to have gripped her vocal cords in an iron fist, she wordlessly led the way out to her car, wasting no time in letting herself and Don back in before peeling out of the parking lot, the weight of the impending situation in Pasadena barring down on her with the knowledge that _she _was the reason that murderer had escaped.

On the way to his childhood home, Don said not a word. He merely stared out the window as the buildings rushed by, his hands fisted at his sides as he tried his hardest to not imagine what was most likely about to happen to his baby brother.

Megan couldn't possibly drive fast enough.

* * *

**10:35 A.M**

For the first time in months, Charlie felt truly relaxed. After he'd had breakfast with his father, he'd found that his exhaustion from his earlier nightmare had returned full force, and so he'd opted to curl up under the Afghan on the couch in his living room for a power-nap. He hadn't expected himself to sleep as long as he had, waking up at ten-thirty and feeling surprised to find that he'd slept for an extra three hours, and happy to find that he felt more refreshed than he'd felt in a long time. Wandering into the kitchen, he'd found a note next to his bottle of pain killers that was addressed to him from his father, stating that he'd left not long ago to pick up some groceries for supper, that he'd be back in around half an hour, and to call him if he needed anything.

On some level, Charlie had enjoyed Alan's fussing, but on the other hand he found himself enjoying the prospect of having the entire house to himself for once. After some debate, he'd decided that he'd cut himself some fruit he'd found in the fridge and then bring it out to the back porch to eat, after which he'd probably sit by the koi pond to study the fishes' patterns for some fun.

And so that was how he found himself standing at the kitchen counter, using a frighteningly large knife to cut a handful of peaches since he'd been unable to locate a smaller one. While he was working, he couldn't help but wonder what Don was doing right then seeing as the last time he'd seen him had been when his father had turned on the morning news and they'd caught a live feed of Don standing at the scene of a recent double-homicide, one no doubt somehow related to the Jersey Cop Killers case. He chuckled quietly to himself, wondering for the hundredth time just how it was that Don always managed to find himself right in the center on such situations, even when he merely went for a walk through the suburbs. _That's Don for you - attracts bad situations like a magnet does its opposite_.

He had just finished his task and was loading the peach slices into the bowl he'd taken out when he heard the sound of a roaring engine, fast approaching from down the street. At first dismissing it as a reckless driver, he felt drawn to investigate when the car that said engine belonged to came to a screeching halt, sounding as though it had done so directly in front of his house. Placing the large knife carefully down next to the bowl, Charlie casually made his way over to the front door, unlocking it before opening it and stepping out onto the front porch.

His mind went briefly numb when he saw that a man, dressed completely in black and wearing a ski mask, was running full-tilt up the drive from the street towards him, a gun complete with silencer gripper firmly in one gloved hand. He was torn from numbness however when a quiet click and spitting sound reached his ears half-a-second before white-hot pain erupted with incredible force across his right shoulder, the shock propelling him backwards into the door. The logic half of his mind clicked back into place long enough for him to grit his teeth against the pain and stumble back inside, slamming the door shut and locking the deadbolt behind him. Clutching his right arm to himself, Charlie raced back into the kitchen and snatched up the knife he had been using, as well as the cordless phone that had been in its cradle on the wall. Before he could call 9-1-1 however, he heard a sort of mini-explosion out in the entrance-way and peaked around the corner to see what was left of the front door's lock fall in pieces to the ground, after which the front door was kicked open and Charlie quickly receded back into the kitchen, swallowing hard against the rising terror.

Charlie could hear the quiet steps of his assailant as the man slowly made his way into the living room, searching carefully and diligently for him, and placed the phone in the left hand that was partially covered by the brace on his wrist, gripping his knife tightly in his right hand, trying to ignore the incessant throbbing coming from his shoulder. As he continued to listen to the gunman's progress, he found himself suddenly hating the idea of having the house to himself, even if for just half-an-hour. In fact, he resolved that in the event he survived this encounter, he would spend as much time as it took to convince his father not to leave him here alone - _ever again_.

He could feel the warmth of the blood as it poured from his gunshot wound, soaking the short sleeve of his T-shirt before running down his bare forearm to his hand, slicking the knife's handle. Gripping it tighter to keep it from slipping from his grasp, Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, praying both for the courage to defend himself if it came down to it as well as for the immediate return of his father who maybe, by some divine act, would have Don with him; Don would protect him, keep him safe - Don would stop the next bullet from this man's gun from hitting its mark, somewhere on Charlie's body, he had to...he _had_ to.

Opening his eyes, Charlie was forced to bite his tongue to stave the tears that threatened as he faced the fact that he was alone in this, and that it was very possible, and highly probable, that he was going to die in a few minutes, and Don wouldn't be there to save him.

The footsteps came closer and Charlie gripped the knife tighter, awaiting the appearance of the man who was going to kill him.

* * *

_TBC_  



	9. Friday: The Fifth Day, 10:35 AM

**A/N:** i have returned - and i've brought a new chapter with me:) i'd like to say that i felt sorry for leaving you all hanging like that on chapter 8... but i'd be lying ;) cliffies are just too much fun _not_ to have:) anyways, on to the show! -- enjoy, and don't forget to review, cause reviews are what keep me going! -- oh, and there is a small part in here to do with simple human anatomy, and before any of you ask, yes the situation i described is a real one, and the fatality equally so.

**Warning:** violence is about to ensue - nothing on the level of "silence of the lambs" or anything like that, but i guess enough to give you guys a heads up.

**Warning #2:** i'm not sure what happened (didn't really notice 'till i was finished), but it seems i ended up kinda going to town on descriptions for everything, the result being one freakin' long chapter, so i hope that you've set aside some serious time to read this, cause you might be here a while!

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**Chapter 9 - Friday, The Fifth Day (10:35 A.M)**

With a muttered curse and a sharp swerve, Megan narrowly avoided sideswiping a car that had more a right to be passing through the intersection than she did as she blew yet another red light, kicking up her speed once more, this time from 75km/h to 85. She nearly over-corrected as her trembling hands whipped the wheel back so as to straighten out in their lane, but beside her in the car, Don didn't seem to even notice the near miss, staring continuously out his window with a shell-shocked expression that re-ignited her previous worry.

"Don?" Her voice was barely audible over the roar of the car's engine since she hadn't really spoken much since Don's brush with death at his apartment followed immediately by their mad dash back to the car, and she forced herself to swallow the offending lump so as to speak clearly. "Don, it's going to be okay - Charlie'll be fine..." Her voice trailed off after that as she realized that she really had nothing more to say that could support her claim. Honestly, she found that no matter how she looked at it, the situation was a relatively hopeless one, with no way to warn Charlie of the impending attack and no real way to beat the murderer to the house...

She abruptly cut off her own train of thought, angry with herself for allowing her emotions and fear for her young friend block out her training; it wasn't as though her time at Quantico had been spent sleeping - she'd learned alongside everyone else that allowing your emotions to get in the way of things, especially when put in a situation with close friends such as your fellow agents was a sure-fire way to get yourself and them killed. What she needed to do was take a mental step back and look at exactly what it was that they were facing: yes, armed and dangerous men had a head-start on them and were well on their way towards the Eppes residence, but on the other hand, she had to remember that Charlie had been consulting for and working with the FBI, NSA, CIA, etc. for years and had in all likelihood picked up some sort of idea along the way of how to handle himself in a dangerous situation - or at least she hoped he had. If he could manage to keep a cool head, which she was sure - if he put his amazing mind to it - he could, then she felt somewhat confidant that he would be able to find somewhere to hide until they could get there to help him. Or maybe, if luck were really, _really_ on their side today, Charlie would be in a position to see the perps' black car pull up, and maybe recognize its license plate and description from the crime scene reports and be able to escape out the back door.

Filled now with some sense of assurance that they could still come out of this newest disaster unscathed, she spoke again, her voice adopting a firm, at least semi-confidant tone as she picked up where she'd left off in reassuring her coworker and friend. "Listen to me Don: everything's going to be fine, Charlie's going to be fine. You know how I know that? 'Cause he's _your_ brother, and your father's son, and I've seen the way you two can operate in tense situations - it's genetic, and it's bound to have rubbed off at least a little on Charlie; he'll probably see these guys show up and find a good, solid spot in that house to hold up until we can get there, which'll be in a little less than fifteen minutes."

She could see his jaw muscles clench as his teeth grinded together but all the same he turned and gave her a small smile, showing that he'd heard and appreciated her words. Allowing herself to relax a little now that he'd allowed himself to be comforted at least somewhat in this dire situation, she found her gaze wandering nervously over the still bleeding gash on his right temple before settling once again on his neck, swallowing hard at the sight of the deeply bruising flesh, the unnerving shapes of hands standing out in the light that filled the interior of the vehicle. Just as she was beginning to wonder if his windpipe had been damaged by the attack, a fit of harsh, rib-cracking coughs erupted from his mouth and his eyes watered as he struggled to keep them open against the induced pain in both his throat and ribs, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle the coughs.

Quick to react, she leaned forward a little so that she could reach with one hand to pull a bottle of water out from under her seat where she always kept it. Wordlessly, she held it out in front of Don who gratefully accepted it, easily twisting off the cap and downing over three quarters of the bottle in quick, frantic sips before finally lowering it again, pausing for a second before recapping it and placing it in one of the cup-holders that were up front with them.

"Thanks," he said, his voice hoarse from coughing and quiet from fear. Megan nodded briefly in acknowledgement.

"No problem Don." They lapsed into silence for a while as she continued to weave in and out of traffic, the buildings they passed blurring into a mold of mere colors before her eyes. When she finally broke the silence, she couldn't help but stare briefly at his two recently acquired injuries. "After we get Charlie, I have to insist that we bring you to the hospital; that cut probably needs some stitching, and you should get your neck looked at - just in case." For a long moment Don was silent, his teeth grinding together again. Megan had just begun thinking that he was going to argue the matter when he suddenly responded slowly, his voice low, monotone, as though it was taking all of his focus to keep it from revealing too much of what was going on inside his head.

"As long as we get to Charlie before _him_, I don't care where we go afterwards," he said, praying that Megan wouldn't push him to talk it through; the last thing he wanted was his terrible fears to be voiced - speaking them out loud would make them real, tangible, and undeniable, and he just couldn't handle that right now.

For whatever wonderful reason, Megan decided to answer his prayer by simply nodding briefly in approval before turning to once more concentrate on navigating through the late morning traffic. He only wished now that he could put a stop to the terrible scenes of horror running rampant through his mind: a hundred different views at a hundred different angles at which their murderer could put a bullet in his little brother's head, the same number of views of the look of pure terror that would be etched into once happy brown eyes before they would squeeze shut as the trigger was pulled... the same, continuous scream that would always ring out just before the bullet could find its mark, instantly silencing that terrible sound forever...

Blinking and giving his head a brief shake, intending to clear it enough for him to be able to think about what would have to be done when he finally did reach his brother's house, Don found himself actually trying to focus on just how much his head hurt, and how much his throat hurt, inside and out, how much it hurt each time he took a breath or coughed - at this point, any distraction from thoughts of what could be happening right then at his childhood home were welcome, desperately sought after in fact. It worked to some degree, and a frown worked its way across his face as he swallowed with a wince. _Damn, that really _does_ hurt... how could I have not noticed it until now?_

It wasn't hard to figure out the answer to that question: he'd been so focused on getting to where he was needed that it hadn't occurred to him that he had been hurt, and should be hurting right then because of it. He wondered idly which hurt worse: premonitions of a loved one being murdered before you could reach them, or the aftereffects of first having your head beaten on, then nearly having the life choked out of you.

All it took was one flash of a pair of terrified brown eyes for Don to cringe, wishing suddenly for a coughing fit, which would be a welcome distraction from the reality of what it was that he may very well find at the end of this drive. He had to consider the possibility that they simply wouldn't be fast enough to stop it - it was an unavoidable fact: they could only drive so fast, and their suspects had practically a fifteen minute head-start on them. Don remembered now that at some point during the beginning of their ride, Megan had told him that his father had called and said that he would be out of the house for the next half-hour or so, shopping for the makings for dinner. He was somewhat relieved that their father was safely inside the grocery store while at the same time feeling his heart ache even more for Charlie, who in the mean time would be left completely alone and defenseless against the serial killer that was coming after him. As it was, Charlie had no idea what was coming, but when those men finally did arrive, Don knew what it was that would be flashing through his brother's mind, for it was exactly what was being screamed inside of his own: Don wasn't there for him - he should have been, but he had decided to leave him there alone; he wasn't there to protect him, he wasn't there to keep the promise he made that nothing else would happen to them, that they would both get out of this one alive.

_You left me Don, when I needed you the most - I'm going to die because of you..._

Imagining his brother's voice, clear as day, saying those words with such sadness and conviction in his head nearly tore a sob from his lips, its origin being the very depths of his soul, but at the last minute he managed to stifle it, clenching his jaw shut until it ached as he rapidly blinked away the gathering moisture in his eyes. With several more deep breaths, he focused his mind on his latest task: he _was_ going to get to Charlie in time, no matter what it took, and he _would _keep his promise, _no matter what_.

Once more pushing the pain aside, Don refocused his attention on the road ahead of them which was giving away from the city to the outskirts of Pasadena, sheer determination replacing the previous fear the closer they came to their destination. As though she'd picked up on his thoughts, Megan's eyes hardened determinedly and her foot pressed even harder down on the accelerator, once more picking up speed as she threw caution into the wind. Don said not a word as he set about checking and rechecking that the clip in his gun was full, and that an extra clip from Megan's glove compartment was tucked safely away in his pant pocket.

_No matter what..._

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**10:37 A.M**

Charlie didn't dare breathe any more than short, barely useful spurts, for he was sure that if he tried to do otherwise, he wouldn't be able to keep his breaths from coming out harsh, and loudly as a result, and it didn't take a genius to know that his silence was the only thing between him and another bullet. As it was, the deep graze from the first one was throbbing incessantly in time with his painfully hammering heart, making it beyond difficult to concentrate on anything else other than the large knife clutched in his trembling, blood-covered right hand, and the fact that the one thing that could bring the needed aid, his portal to possibly living to see tomorrow, his phone, was resting in his brace-covered left hand, and yet there was no way that he could risk the noise using it would make. What was probably the most infuriating part of it all was the fact that the help he needed now, the person that could have taken down this intruder quickly and efficiently had been there only that morning, but had for some reason left and not come back.

_Don, why did you_ have_ to take off today, of all days?_

A pause in the approaching footsteps immediately caught Charlie's attention and he forced his ears to listen even harder for a hint as to what was going on around the corner, out in the dinning area where his attacker was likely to be standing. For the longest moment, the entire lower floor of his house was enveloped in what could only be described as a suffocating silence, the air actually becoming thinner in the tension that built up with each passing second. At that moment, Charlie would have given anything to be able to hear his attacker's thoughts, to get an insight into what it was that was happening.

Why had he stopped moving? Did he know where Charlie was? Was he standing outside the kitchen door right then, counting down the seconds until he would burst into the room and end his life? What _the hell_ was he thinking?

Just when Charlie became certain that he was going to pass clear out from anxiety, the footsteps picked up again... in the _opposite direction_. Charlie could have cried and laughed at the same time from the waves of tense relief that were washing over him right then as he listened to the man make his way further down the hall towards the door that led down to the furnace room, but fortunately he was able to reign in his emotions just enough to keep quiet. Straining his ears to catch every sound, he was able to pick up the faint creak that was the basement door opening, followed soon after by the equally quiet clicking of it shutting once more; the man was headed into the basement, and this could only mean one thing: the miracle he had been waiting for had arrived, this was his chance to escape with his life.

Waiting an extra half-a-minute to ensure that the coast was in fact clear, Charlie carefully and quietly crept out of the kitchen, hardly aware of the trail of blood that he was dripping across the floor as he made his way towards the slightly open front door, the knife still held almost unconsciously in an alert stance as he cautiously knelt down to look through the hole where the lock use to be. He could clearly see the man's black car parked at the end of his drive and, as he had feared, another masked man sat waiting in the driver's seat, awaiting his partner's return.

Sending a silent curse to the heavens, Charlie quickly stood and just as quickly considered his options, for he knew that he had no more than a few minutes before the man in his basement returned to this floor. Option number one: he grabs his keys off the counter and makes a break for his car, chancing possibly being shot again, this time by the man already waiting in the black car out front before he can actually get away; option number two: he quietly makes his way upstairs and locks himself in one of the rooms up there and hides, thereby being out of ear shot so that he can call for help - 911... Don... the whole works.

Biting his lip, he forced himself to make an immediate decision: since trying to force his worn and rapidly tiring body to run for his life, while possibly being shot again logically seemed to ensure his death, he opted to take his chances with hiding and calling for help, deciding that the odds of surviving that tact seemed somewhat better and considerably less painful. As he turned and ran quietly on tip-toe towards the stairs, he prayed fervently that he'd made the right decision, prayed that help would be fast enough in arriving, prayed that the armed man in his basement wouldn't be able to find him... prayed that the decision he'd just made wouldn't deprive his father of one of his sons.

Expertly avoiding making the aging steps creak, Charlie gradually made his way upstairs, pausing when he reached the top as he tried to decide where the best place for him to go would be, quickly coming to the conclusion that such a place would be his own bedroom - his door had a good, solid lock on it in addition to the fact that in the ceiling of his large, practically empty closet was a narrow but long panel that when pulled open produced a small set of steps that led up into a corner of the house's attic, where he could use the phone to get the needed help. From there, if need be, he was sure that he was small enough to fit through the attic's window, from where he could climb onto his house's roof. And from there... well, he just hoped that if or when it came to that, the help he would have called in would have arrived by then.

Moving towards his room's open door, he paused for a moment, listening to... nothing, absolute silence, and that was what had the back of his mind tingling with uncertainty. Shouldn't the man have re-emerged from the basement by now? It couldn't take _that_ long to search down there, could it? With a slight frown, Charlie shook his head at himself. _Stop thinking, and move, _now

With one last furtive, slightly nervous glance back down the stairs at the empty hall, Charlie crept the rest of the way to his room and stepped carefully inside, gripping the door around the knife in his bloody hand as he paused again to look intently at the empty house that lay beyond his doorway. As his eyes were roaming, he felt a wave of dizziness crash down on him, causing his vision to fuzz while he swayed on his feet, scared that he would pass out. After a moment though it cleared up enough for him to regain his balance and wonder idly how much blood he had lost as he spared his ravaged shoulder a quick glance before gritting his teeth and returning his mind to his hastily concocted plan, realizing with a pinch of pride that he was already half-way there.

_As for the other half..._

Choosing not to finish that thought, he pulled himself up a little straighter and slowly began to close the door with the brace-enclosed hand that still held his phone.

He was waiting for him behind it.

The only reaction he had time for was for his heart to all but stop, his eyes widening, his mouth going dry... and then suddenly the masked man lunged at him, taking only a split second to grip Charlie's shoulder, whipping him around and pulling him tight into his chest so that his back was facing him. The man's left arm wrapped around his chest, pinning both of his arms while his right hand held his gun pressed into his temple. He wasn't sure if he had remembered to breathe yet as the man spoke, his voice an angry hiss in his ear.

"I just came from your brother's place - the guy put up one helluva fight, let me tell you... but the same thing happened to him that's going to happen to you right now." Charlie swore that he could actually feel his heart begin to tear itself to pieces, each rip more painful than the last as it continued to hammer against his bruised ribs.

"Don's... Don's d-dead?" he whispered, his voice small and terrified. The malevolent laugh that responded to his question was enough to send his already shaking body into full fledged trembles, making it hard to keep his legs from giving out on him.

"Unless he's got a bullet-proof head on his shoulders, I'd say so," the man taunted, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having on the young genius. Silent tears were making their way steadily down his face, and the murderer decided to add on the final touches to the devastating blow before finishing the guy off. "And I just can't wait until your dad shows up..." Through his terrified and heartbroken haze, Charlie heard these words and felt something inside him click into place, and a surge of rage like he'd never known began spreading through his chest, melding with his anguish as he realized suddenly that his brother's murderer didn't seem to have noticed the knife he still held loosely in his right hand. Along with this, he realized that with the angle at which his arms had been pinned to his chest, his right knife-wielding hand could still be moved; exerting the right amount of pressure, and corresponding it with mirrored pressure from his left hand... though weakened by its previous injury, it could still work to -

"Time's up, little Eppes," came the harsh whisper in his ear. Through his tears, Charlie's eyes hardened, the pain of Don's death as well as his fear for his father's life lending strength to his battered heart.

The click of the gun's hammer being pulled back rang out in the room and another drop of blood dripped from Charlie's hand, his white-knuckled grip on the knife's handle tightening as he sent out one quick, sorrowful final prayer, bracing himself for what he was going to try to do.

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**10:55 A.M**

When Megan brought the car to a screeching halt in front of his brother's house, Don wasn't sure how to react to the fact that their perps' black car was nowhere to be seen - it could mean either of two things: that they somehow, by some unforeseen, unfathomable miracle got there before the Jersey Cop Killers, meaning that they could get Charlie out of there safely and quickly... or that, true to Don's worst nightmare, they had already come and gone, and inside the house, this house that had once been host to an endless supply of fond memories of time spent with his father and Charlie, was Charlie's lifeless form, one bullet lodged into his head, another into his chest, both succeeding in stealing him permanently from this life...

With more force than was needed, Don whipped open his door and leapt out, his fear fueling another burst of adrenaline as he clicked off the safety on his gun and ran alongside Megan up the path that led to the door... the door that was already standing agape. Upon entering the house and seeing the demolished lock on the floor, it took all of his will power not to toss aside his gun and run through every room in the house, yelling his brother's name until he got an answer - and that was before he saw the blood. He felt the breath catch in his throat as he followed the dotted trail from the door all through the dinning room and into the kitchen, his head already shaking slightly in denial at the gruesome smears on the wall and the counter top, and the dark puddle on the floor.

_It could be our guy's blood... Megan said she nicked him with a bullet, and that dog bite was bleeding when he left my apartment... it doesn't have to be Charlie's - Charlie's fine; he's hiding somewhere, and he's probably scared out of his mind, but he's fine, he's not hurt, he's okay._ Gripping his gun a little harder, he followed Megan through the rooms on the first floor, clearing each while finding no trace of anything having happened in them - all there was, was that same foreboding trail, heading upstairs.

Feeling Megan step up behind him, he quickly but quietly led the way upstairs and had been about to check through his father's room first, when he noticed a dark smear on Charlie's closed bedroom door. Already knowing what it was, Don walked up to the door and nevertheless felt his heart-rate speed up a little at the half of a bloody handprint that was visible against the wood's paint. He knew with gut-wrenching certainty that whatever had happened, had happened in this room, and suddenly doubted his ability or willingness to see what was on the other side of this wooden barrier. However, when Megan had positioned herself on the other side of the doorframe and gave him a resolute, supportive nod, he was reminded that he had no choice, and so returned the nod before carefully reaching forth and turning the knob, pushing it inwards.

It wouldn't open.

With a frown, Don pushed a little harder against whatever it was that was blocking the door's way, and when it still wouldn't give, he settled on a hard shove. It did the trick, and the object that had been blocking their entrance fell away with a heavy thudding sound as the door swung open, revealing the blockage: a body, the floor under it soaked with its blood. The sight caused Don's heart to skip a beat, not out of sadness, but out of the smallest touch of disbelieving hope at the fact that the body was not Charlie, his baby brother - it was that of a man dressed in black, a ski mask covering his face.

Don stared at it for a moment, in shock. Could it be possible? Could Charlie have somehow managed to kill his attacker, and still be alive? Or was his body just in another room?

Shaking off that idea, Don swallowed hard and stepped around the body, looking all around the room, even under the bed for a trace of Charlie, but finding nothing. After he and Megan had given the room and the other two bedroom's a thorough once-over, they both returned to the body, Don finally crouching down beside it and pulling off the mask to reveal the man who had just that morning murdered Mrs. Bradly and her son, had tried to and almost succeeded in killing Don, had shot at Megan, and had threatened to kill his brother. He was dead. This revelation brought both joy and sorrow - joy that he hadn't lived to kill anyone else, sorrow that he hadn't lived to face penalties for those he'd already killed.

Megan, who'd been examining the man's serious lack of wounds spoke up, her voice unconsciously remaining at a low volume.

"From what I can see, aside from the graze I gave him and the bite that dog gave him, his only got two wounds, inflicted by some sort of knife it looks like - one cut on his left forearm, and one on the inside of his right bicep," she said, a slight frown on her face as she looked back up at Don. "He must've bled out." It was Don's turn to frown as he shifted a confused gaze from Megan to the body, then back again.

"How could he have bled out? Two cuts, and in places like that... doesn't seem to me like it'd do him in."

"Well, don't quote me on this, but I remember a tiny something from Gr. 12 Bio, and if I'm remembering correctly, the place where this cut was made on the inside of his right bicep is the place where one of the main arteries to the heart runs closest the skin's surface." She regarded the gruesome scene for a moment. "A cut like that, and he would have been dead in under half-a-minute." Shaking his head at the thought of such a simple injury being so fatal, Don stood from his crouch and paced back and forth for a moment before voicing the thought that was still eating away at him.

"If this guy's dead, and his partner drove off... where's Charlie?" he said quietly, his gaze wandering aimlessly throughout the room... until he caught sight of something on the floor, leading away from the murderer's body - _the blood trail_, only this time, it wasn't a simple almost-straight-line of droplets, but scattered, as though the one shedding them were staggering at this point. Don followed the trail with wide eyes, and saw that it led up to the partly opened door of Charlie's closet, it's handle smeared with another dark stain. Breathless, he darted forward and pulled the door open the rest of the way as he followed his hopeful suspicion and looked up at the ceiling... yes! There it was: that same stain was on the handle to the panel that opened up into the attic - a perfect place to hide.

Casting Megan an excited glance that spurred her to come stand at the closet's entrance, he reached up and pulled on the latch, gently lowering the pull-down stairs and making sure that his gun was in his hand - just in case - before slowly beginning to climb the stairs.

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Charlie could barely keep his eyes open, part of the reason being that the few hits he'd taken to the face had given him a searing headache that made keeping them open more painful than he thought was worth it - he blamed the rest of it on the fact that ever since that bullet had grazed his arm, he'd been getting progressively and inexplicably tired, the idea of closing his eyes and sleeping for a while dangerously appealing. Were he not in so much pain, and not so overwhelmingly terrified and saddened, he might have given in by now. As it was, he couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off of the closed trap door, nor could he bring himself to put down the stained knife still clutched in his shaking right hand.

Personally, he was amazed at the detail with which he could remember the fight that had taken place not ten minutes earlier, considering how fast it had all happened. One second a loaded gun was at his head, about to fire a bullet into his skull - the next, he was pushing down and to the left with all of his strength, catching the man completely off-guard when he managed to cut his left arm, the shock and resulting pain causing him to release his hold on Charlie and drop his gun to the floor, briefly grasping his arm, thereby allowing Charlie to stagger forward a few steps. The second Charlie had turned around to face him however, a punch to his left cheekbone had almost sent him sprawling and before he could recover, the man had pounced on him, trying to pry the knife out of Charlie's grasp. Raw, unbridled hate and anguish fueled his movements as he threw himself into the struggle over the weapon, a mantra of determination and purpose pounding inside his head: _Get the knife - stay alive - if you die, Dad dies - get the knife_.

Near the end, the man had almost won when he released the hold of his right hand, using it to backhand Charlie's face, splitting his lip. Rapidly loosing the balance needed to stay on his feet, Charlie had put forth one last desperate effort, making sure that he had a solid grip on the knife's handle with both hands before he threw all of his weight backwards. The sudden strength behind the pull had been more than enough to dislodge the man's remaining hand and as Charlie fell, his hands, still gripping the knife, had flown up through the air in an upward arc. He had felt a brief catch on the blade's edge and heard the man give a brief cry followed by a loud curse, and figured, as he felt himself loose his footing and fall to the ground, that he'd managed to knick his arm or something, maybe enough to distract him while he made a run for it - he was suddenly liking his chances of making it to his car a lot more than his chances of being able to wait this one out inside his house.

When at last he had managed to struggle to his feet, it was just in time to see the man fall to his knees, and then backwards from there so that his sprawling form hit the bedroom door, slamming it shut and keeping it that way as he slid down against the door's face, effectively blocking the way out. For almost a full minute he'd stood there, starring at the masked man where he was still sprawled up against the door and wondering why he wasn't getting back up. After all, he'd only nicked him, hadn't he? When another minute had passed, Charlie's fuzzy brain had managed to come up with two reasons as to why he hadn't moved yet: either he'd hit his head on the door when he fell, and was unconscious, or he wasn't unconscious, but wanted Charlie to think he was so that if Charlie went to try and move him out of the way so that he could leave, he'd easily be able to take him down and get the knife from him.

As yet another quiet minute went by, he had come to the conclusion that his second guess had been right, and so saw only one thing left that he could do, for there was no way he was going to risk being disarmed when he tried to move him: he would follow his original plan and enter the attic through the panel in his closet ceiling, and from there he would use his phone to call for help - 911... _not Don_...

What sounded like a broken sob echoed through the musty attic, bringing his attention back to the present, and it took him a minute before he realized that it had come from him - he felt detached from his pain, both inside and out; he simply couldn't take it.

_Donnie..._

And for the first time in the past twenty minutes, he let his guard drop, the knife falling quietly from his sticky hand to the attic floor as he curled in on himself, wrapping his arms tightly around his churning stomach, ignoring the resulting burn in from the graze in his shoulder that had yet to stop bleeding; he didn't care any more. Why should he? The pain his injuries caused paled in comparison to that which had wrapped a cold, iron fist around his already broken heart, and had started to squeeze. His big brother, the invincible, indestructible Don, the one who had all the answers that he didn't, the one who'd always been there to protect him... until today - today he'd died, today he'd broken the promise he'd been so sure he could keep, and in breaking it, he'd left Charlie all alone in this nightmare, alone in this terrible world...

He'd been just about to give in to the tears that threatened when he heard it: a faint thump bellow him, and then after a while, a pair of low voices, coming from inside his room; the murderer's accomplices must have arrived, no doubt to help him to kill Charlie - it's not like he'd be hard to find. Fresh fear gripped him, but it wasn't as all encompassing as it had been before - after all, he already knew that it was hopeless, so why bother letting himself drown in it?

Try as he might, Charlie couldn't manage to catch the first words exchanged before both voices became silent, and he could hear one of them pacing around on his floor. The next phrase spoken was a little louder however, allowing him to be able to make out bits and pieces.

"_... dead... partner... Charlie?_" He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard, managing despite his now constant light-headedness to connect the dots between the words - he could only pray that the police got there soon, as in _right now_; he couldn't bear the thought of making his father loose both of his sons in one day, in one _morning_.

His heart-rate skyrocketed as he heard the footsteps start up again, this time moving across the room, coming to a stop directly under the panel which Charlie sat at the end of. Riveting his eyes on the panel as it was slowly opened, Charlie went to pick the knife back up with his right hand, only to be stopped, barely suppressing a grunt as pain shot through his shoulder and down his arm at the movement. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he pressed hard with his braced left-hand against the graze to try and slow the bleeding, keeping his right elbow basically glued to his side to avoid as much movement with the arm as possible as he leaned his body forward and retrieved the knife.

It seemed oddly fortunate that the blood that had run down all over his hand had made his palm as sticky as it was, for the traction that it provided was making up for the declining strength in his grip while he held it out defensively in front of him, listening with bated breath to the soft thuds that was the killer's feet hitting the first few steps. It was only a matter of seconds before the top of his head as well as his gun became visible as he ascended into the attic, his back to Charlie. Charlie waited only until he could see as much as the man's shoulders before he leaned in, deftly pressing the tip of his knife into the skin just under the man's dark hair - it wasn't enough to break the skin, but just enough so that the man froze in his ascent, pausing only for a second before he wordlessly raised both hands into the air on either side of his head. Swallowing thickly, Charlie thought of Don and what, if he were alive, he'd say to this man, and tried to speak in as strong a voice as he could manage. Even then, it came out a little on the hoarse side, hardly even sounding like his voice at all.

"I don't want to hurt you, so listen very carefully to what I'm about to say."

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Don couldn't say for sure what it was that he'd been expecting when he climbed the stairs, but he could definitely say that he hadn't been expecting to feel the sharp tip of a knife suddenly press into the back of his neck when he was little more than half-way up, encouraging him to freeze where he was. Once he was sure that whoever was holding the knife wasn't going to kill him on the spot, he cautiously raised both his hands into the air where they could be visible and show that he wasn't a threat. However, just as he was about to get the person talking, and maybe convince him to drop the knife, said person spoke up, his voice hoarse with a touch of fear and a little on the weak side, but still displaying an underlying firmness that only served to add on to the confusion that Don felt at his words.

"I don't want to hurt you, so listen very carefully to what I'm about to say." What was this? Who was this guy? What kind of murderer wouldn't want to -

Don stopped himself mid-thought as the suddenly obvious answer hit him dead on, making his eyes widen and his lips quirk up in a relieved smile even before the voice that he now recognized spoke up again.

"I've already called the police - they're on their way," Charlie said, trying not to let too much of his relief at his factual statement show. "All you have to do is leave my house, quietly, right now, and leave me and my father alone." In the pause that followed, Don found himself temporarily shocked into silence by the courage that Charlie was showing in dealing with who his younger brother assumed to be an armed and dangerous criminal, but before he could turn around to face his brother and see what kind of shape he was in, a soft sob emanated from behind him, accompanied by a tearful statement that left him reeling. "I know you killed my brother, but I am willing to let you walk out of here alive if you just never come back." The slightly increased pressure of the knife brought him out of his silence and he abruptly turned around, not even feeling the slight sting of the knife making a shallow scratch in his skin as he beheld the state his baby brother was in, his eyes widening and his pulse quickening. Well, now he knew what had made their blood trail.

Kneeling at the edge of the opening, Charlie looked as though he was just barely managing to keep himself upright. By the light coming up from the room bellow, as well as that which was coming in through the attic window, Don could see just how pale his face was, the pallor only making the dark bruise on his cheekbone and his split and bleeding lip stand out all the more. To top it off, he could see under his left hand that his right shoulder was bleeding heavily, having long since trailed down his bare arm... to the shaking hand that gripped what he recognized as being one of their dad's kitchen knives. He swallowed hard as he noticed the blood on the knife's edge, and concluded that, probably in the heat of the moment, Charlie had inadvertently inflicted the cut that ended his attacker's life. He wondered if Charlie even knew that he'd died, and wasn't sure that he'd be willing to tell him if he didn't.

Once he had finished his once-over, Don finally allowed his gaze to travel up to Charlie's face, startled to find his features a mask of sadness, tears falling from his eyes down his already tear-streaked face. Without looking away from him, Don swallowed once to wet his suddenly dry throat and finally called softly down to Megan who was waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs.

"Megan, Charlie's up here - I think we're gonna need an ambulance." Megan's eyes stared up at him with worry, and though he wasn't looking to see it, he could hear it in her voice.

"What's wrong? Is he okay?" The knife dropped quietly from Charlie's hand and Don noticed then that it wasn't just his hand that was shaking, but his entire body.

"I don't know, just tell them to step on it, alright?" he said, his voice ringing with twice the worry that had been in Megan's and she nodded briskly, stepping out of the closet as she pulled out her phone. Satisfied that help was on the way, Don quickly climbed the rest of the way into the attic and practically fell down next to Charlie in his rush to get there. Charlie's tear-filled eyes had followed his movements, and were now making eye-contact with Don's, the expression in their depths being one of a mixture of fear, sadness, and worst of all, resignment, all of which dripped from his words as he spoke.

"Are you real, Don?" he whispered as he blinked, seemingly having a hard time reopening his eyes once they'd closed. "'Cause I don't think I could handle having a hallucination at this point." Don allowed himself a smile, reaching a hand forward to tightly grip Charlie's blood-covered right one. The feel and idea of it made Don's stomach churn, but he shoved aside the nausea and kept on smiling.

"Yeah Buddy, I'm real - at least the last time I checked," he said, attempting to keep his tone light but failing as he finally voiced the question that had been nagging at him. "Charlie... why would you think I was dead?" Charlie looked away before answering, his voice shaking almost as badly as his body was.

"He was getting ready to kill me, and said that he'd... that he'd sh-shot you... in the head." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and when he opened them again to look at Don, Don wondered if it were possible for the pain and fear he saw there to reverberate into him and down into his chest, the shockwaves breaking his heart, 'cause that's what it certainly felt like was happening right then. Charlie's next words did nothing to help. "You broke your promise," he whispered, his brow knitting together in an attempt to keep himself from completely breaking down. "You said we'd be okay - this is not okay Don."

"I know Charlie, I - I know... God, I'm so sorry Buddy... this never should have happened." Now it was Don's turn to squeeze his eyes shut, bowing his head a little as he tried desperately to keep it together - now was not the time to let his emotions, guilt especially, overwhelm him. Charlie's next question was enough to make him open his eyes again.

"Where is he?" Charlie didn't have to elaborate on the 'he' being referred to - Don knew quite well who 'he' was. After all, he'd had to step over his body to get into the room in the first place... and that was exactly what he didn't want to have to tell Charlie, to have to tell him that 'he' was dead, there being only one person who could have done it. "Don?" Don looked back up at him then, trying to ease the blow a little by fixing an empathetic look on his face before answering.

"He's dead Charlie - he... he's still in your room." Don watched with mounting dread as anxiety swelled on his brother's face, his body's shakes kicking it up a notch, so much that it was really starting to scare Don and he reflexively tightened his hold on the hand he still held. "Charlie?"

When he spoke, his stumbled over his words, failing at complete sentences as the full impact of Don's words sank in: the man was dead... and _he_ had killed him. _Oh God..._

"I - I couldn't have... I barely touched him - Don... no, that can't be right I... he can't be dead..." Even as he continued to ramble, he was picturing the man's deathly still form, sprawled on the floor, and he could feel the bile start to rise steadily in his throat as his voice died and he merely looked up at Don, desperately shaking his head.

Don could read the anxiety and denial in Charlie's eyes and felt his chest tighten unpleasantly as he realized just how difficult this was going to be for his brother, such a fragile and innocent mind and soul, having to deal with taking a life; such a thing wasn't even easy for seasoned FBI agents, never mind eccentric math prodigies. However, before Don could even begin to try and calm him down, to reassure him that what he'd done was justified, Charlie scrambled over to the opening in the floor with a sudden burst of energy, all but falling down the stairs back into his closet with Don right behind him, and almost running head-on into Megan who had just finished placing the calls for an ambulance, a coroner, and a CSI team in record time. Shocked at his appearance, she allowed herself to be weakly pushed past but quickly joined Don in standing at Charlie's side as the injured man stared with wide, tear-filled eyes at the body and the blood that surrounded it. Casting a nervous glance at Megan, Don reached a hand forward to rest on Charlie's uninjured left shoulder.

"Charlie..." He didn't get a chance to ask if he was all right. Before he could react, Charlie, with an impressive amount of speed considering his state practically ran from the room, half-tripping over the body in his rush to leave. The two agents followed worriedly after him as he stumbled down the stairs, swaying dangerously as he made it to the bottom and headed out the front door, making it as far as the walkway before he fell to his knees, shaking uncontrollably, his hand never ceasing gripping his still bleeding right shoulder. Dropping to a crouch in front of Charlie, he gripped his right hand tightly in both of his, barely noticing Megan kneeling beside Charlie's shaking form, using a hand to rub circles on his back as she tried to calm him down with soft words that didn't seem to be having any effect. "Charlie, look at me..." He didn't seem to hear him as his breathing sped up to an alarmingly fast pace, his eyes the size of saucers as he stared, unseeing, at the ground in front of Don's knees. Desperate, Don tightened his hold and jerked the hand he was holding. "Charlie! I need you to look at me!" His raised voice seemed to catch Charlie's attention, and his eyes shot up to meet Don's, the terror there freezing Don's voice in his throat, allowing Charlie to speak, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I d-didn't mean to kill him, I didn't... he was trying to kill me Don - he already shot me... he h-had a gun to my head, and he said he'd already killed you, said he was going to kill dad too... Jesus, Don... I killed him... I... I can't believe... God, Don, you have to believe me... I wasn't trying to kill him, just to stay alive l-long enough to warn Dad... I never wanted to hurt him in the first place... Jesus... " All through Charlie's ramblings, Don couldn't help the horrifying image that was being conjured up in his head: Charlie, already injured, alone in the house, up against a man with a gun - Charlie, shot and bleeding, a gun to his head being held by a man who had every intention of pulling the trigger, the promise of their father's imminent murder hanging in the air...

Without waiting a second longer, Don released his hold on Charlie's hand and pulled Charlie into a crushing yet comforting hug, the scenes in his head seeming to ease off a little as he held his brother, his warmth there to reassure him that none of the terrible endings to those scenes had come true, he hadn't been too late - his brother was still alive.

The strength behind the hug was enough to stop the words that had still been pouring out of him, the contact reminding him that despite what had just happened, his big brother hadn't been killed - he was right here, sitting in the middle of the walkway right along with him, being there like he'd always been... like he hopefully always would be.

Charlie couldn't help the tears that welled in his eyes, falling silently down his face to drip onto Don's shoulder. Ignoring the pain it put him in, he removed his hand from his shoulder so that he could wrap his good arm tightly around Don, returning the hug as best he could as he allowed himself to calm down, gradually slowing his breathing down to a more healthy pace, even though the shaking still remained. It wasn't long however before his previous light-headedness returned full force and he found himself sagging into Don, lacking the energy to hold himself up any longer now that such things were no longer necessary.

Alarmed to feel Charlie leaning so heavily against him, he pulled away, using his hands to hold Charlie up as he saw that his eyelids were drooping, almost completely shut. Not wanting him to pass out and fall over to crack his head on the walkway, Don looked over at Megan.

"Help me lay him down." Nodding, she quickly took off her jacket and bunched it up into a makeshift pillow before helping to carefully lower Charlie to the ground on his back, after which Megan finally got her first look at the bullet graze. Her slight frown did nothing to calm Don's nerves, and his voice was quiet when he spoke up. "How's it look?"

"Well, it looks pretty deep to me - it's definitely going to need some serious stitching to close it up," she said before looking to down at Charlie with a comforting smile. "But, all-in-all, it looks like you got lucky this time round." Giving her a brief incredulous look, Charlie allowed a tired half-smile to flit across his pale features.

"Lucky," he breathed with a mirthless chuckle, shifting his gaze over to Don. His eyes took in the gash on the side of his head and the deep bruises that all but covered his neck, as well as the way Don was sitting, slightly hunched over, no doubt in an effort to relieve some of the strain on his ribs. After a moment his hint of a smile broadened a little, though both agents could see clearly that none of that reached his eyes, their brown depths remaining sad. "If this is how we end up looking when we're lucky, remind me to hide the day that our luck runs out." Smiling a little at the comment, and trying very hard not to think about the look in Charlie's eyes, Don looked back up at Megan.

"How long 'till that ambulance gets here?" She glanced down at her watch.

"Should be here in about five minutes, give or take," she said before returning her attention to Charlie's arm. "It'd probably be a good idea to put some pressure on that shoulder."

Mentally shaking his head at himself for forgetting something such as that, Don painstakingly removed his own jacket, the stab to his ribs reminding him sharply that he needed to get them reset as he bunched up the jacket and pressed it as hard as he could against Charlie's shoulder, displaying an obvious wince when Charlie cried out before biting his lower lip and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. Just looking at the condition his brother was in, pysically and most especially emotionally, made Don wish that he could bring the bastard that Charlie had killed back to life, just so that he could kill him again. Seeing the look displayed on Megan's face, he knew that she would volunteer to help, such offers no doubt coming in from Colby and David as well, once they found out about this little incident that is.

The three had only been sitting in silence for a few minutes before the sound of distant sirens reached their ears, and it wasn't long before a squad car came into view, speeding down the street until it reached the end of their driveway and came to a halt a few feet in front of it. Muting the sirens but leaving the lights flashing, the car's two officers jumped out, their hands moving to rest on their holsters when they were near enough to view Charlie's condition. They hastily introduced themselves as officers Brian Kent, and Mark O'Rielly before jumping into questioning mode.

"Which one of you called 911?" asked the younger one of the two, O'Rielly apparently. Charlie weakly lifted his right hand.

"I did," he said hoarsely. The officers exchanged a glance before the older one, Kent, and presumably the more experienced of the two with such situations, stepped forward.

"Is the intruder still in the house? Is he armed?" he asked, and Don felt his heart sink even lower at the shadow that passed over Charlie's face before he averted and closed his eyes, seemingly having to will himself to keep a steady tone as he responded.

"He... he's still in the house, but he's not armed... he's dead." Don couldn't tell for sure, but he had the strong suspicion that it wasn't so much that Kent didn't have more questions, as much as it was the tone of Charlie's voice, that spoke volumes of the trauma endured in the past half-hour, that kept the officer silent as he merely nodded his acknowledgement of the report. Megan flashing her agent I.D kept any questions as to hers and Don's purpose there from being asked as officer Kent sent his partner in to make sure there was no living perp left in the house while he slowly returned to their squad car, about to radio in for a coroner for the perp and an ambulance for the bleeding young man who was laying on the lawn, only to think better of it as he saw both said vehicles to already be on approach in his rearview mirror.

Shaking his head slightly, he sat back in his seat for another few minutes before once more getting out of the car and walking back up to meet O'Rielly who was just emerging from the house. Passing the group huddled together on the walkway, and sparing the injured young man laying on the ground an empathetic look, he met his partner at the front door, frowning a little at the slightly sick expression that was on the young patrolman's face.

"What is it? Did you find the body?" he asked brusquely. O'Rielly nodded.

"Yeah, I found it alright - it's in one of the bedrooms upstairs; still has a gun with a silencer in his hand." The sick look never left his face and Kent remained silent, sensing that there was more he wanted to say. He knew he'd sensed right when the man leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice so as not to be heard by the agents and the victim-to-be. "Don't get me wrong, there was enough blood around the body and all... but, the thing that's got me is that that guy obviously received his fatal wound in that room, since there wasn't this huge trail leading upstairs, but there _was_ a small one, one that led all through the kitchen, smeared a little on the wall and all the way up the stairs... probably made by that guy's shoulder wound -"

"What's your point O'Rielly?" barked Kent, feeling a migraine coming on and in no mood to listen to a novel-sized report. O'Rielly sighed in slight exasperation.

"My point Brian, is that aside from slight signs of a bit of a scuffle going on in the room that the perp died, and the vic's blood trail... there isn't _one single thing_ that is misplaced in that house, no sign of the guy having riffled through anything, looking for valuables, nothing. Plus, what kind of B&E perp breaks in in broad daylight, in a busy neighborhood, and comes prepared with a damn _silencer_ on his gun?" He let the point hang in the air for a moment before going in for the kill. "Somethin' like this, looks to me like this dead guy was here for a specific reason..." Kent looked over at Charlie who hadn't moved since they'd first seen him, but seemed to be having an even harder time remaining conscious. His eyebrows rose as he finished O'Rielly's deduction.

"...To kill _that_ guy," he said, indicating Charlie with a nod of his head. With a grim half-smile at the fact that Kent was for once agreeing with him, O'Rielly nodded in affirmation. Mulling over O'Rielly's deductive reasoning, Kent had half a mind to recommend to the kid that he take the detective's test, when said 'kid' spoke up again, joining Kent in staring at the group beside them.

"And did you see that other guy's throat?" breathed O'Rielly, his tone containing a touch of awe. "Look's like someone tried to take a go at him too, just didn't happen to have a gun handy..." He trailed off for a moment before asking a question to the air, not really expecting it to be answered. "What the hell is going on with these people?"

Without looking away from the objects of their discussion, Kent answered the question, once more shaking his head.

"I haven't got a damn clue - and with the Feds involved, I don't expect I ever will." A brief pause, then another, more sharp shake of the head before he turned away. "That's enough ogling for one day O'Rielly, now get your skinny ass back to the car and get the 'crime scene' tape - might as well do somethin' while the Feds run the show."

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**11:10 A.M**

Alan's first thoughts when he was driving back from the grocery store and heard several different sets of sirens speeding through the streets never went beyond him hoping that whoever the sirens were heading to weren't too seriously hurt, or if they were, then that they would eventually be just fine. After all, since he did not personally know whoever had been involved in whatever accident, his brain didn't feel the need to elaborate at all, especially since his mind was already focused on other things, such as exactly what he was going to do to his eldest son when he finally got him back home, as well as what he had been planning on making for them all for lunch as well as supper.

However, when Alan turned onto his street and realized that the sirens he'd heard had all headed in this direction, and could now see several emergency vehicles parked further down the road, he didn't have to see that they were parked in front of Charlie's house for his mind to suddenly concentrate on a single thought: _I left Charlie alone, and something's happened to him because of it._

Speeding up considerably, Alan managed to arrive at his home at the other end of the street in record time, quickly throwing the gear into "park" before jumping from the car and running past the squad car, and the car he recognized as belonging to Megan, coming to a dead halt at the end of his driveway: there, parked on the curb was the van labeled "City Coroner", and, to Alan's horror, two men were already carrying an occupied black body bag out of Charlie's house on a backboard. For a moment, all Alan could do was stare numbly at the scene, trying with all his heart to convince himself that it wasn't him, it wasn't his boy, it wasn't his Charlie... but who else could it be? Alan couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could hardly think outside of one thought: _I left him alone... God, I never should have left him alone... my boy is dead because I wasn't there for him._

Suddenly he could move again, but still could barely breathe as he staggered up the drive towards the two men carrying his son, trying in vain to fight back the tears that stung his eyes. He _had_ to see him - they were _not_ going to take Charlie away until he'd had a chance to see him one last time. God... how was he going to break the news to Donnie? He and Charlie had become nearly inseparable these past few years... how was he ever going to be able to tell him that his little brother was dead?

He was almost there, was no more than a second away from intercepting the procession of that terrible black bag when a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder, the grip firm but gentle, and he spun around to come face-to-face with Don. For a moment he was shocked to see him standing there, then he fully registered the strained look on his face and it suddenly occurred to him that if he was here, looking at him like he was, he must already know about Charlie.

"Dad - you all right?" Alan didn't answer, was astonished to see Don so calm, and felt no inclination to follow his example. Looking steadily at him, he felt his eyes fill once more with tears and he cast one last desperate look towards the black bag before returning his gaze to meet Don's steady one.

"Don - Charlie..." he choked out, and found he couldn't even form a complete sentence, could only continue staring at his remaining son. His anguish turned to confusion however when Don's concerned look turned to one of tired relief as he shook his head once before speaking up.

"Charlie's alive Dad - he's being checked out by the paramedics," he said reassuringly, never removing his hand from his father's shoulder. "They're saying that they'll be taking him to the hospital to get fixed up, maybe for a blood-transfusion and possibly overnight to be safe, but he's gonna be just fine." Relieved beyond all words, Alan hastily swiped away his tears before casting a confused glance back at the bag that was now being loaded into the back of the Coroner's van.

"If Charlie's alive, then... who...?" His heart sped up at the dark look that passed through Don's eyes as his son gently grabbed hold of his arm, steering him towards the ambulance that was parked right near the front door as he answered in a low voice that was laced with obvious resentment and anger.

"The guy in the bag in the reason Charlie needs to go to the hospital." Though Alan desperately wanted to ask for more details, they were already rounding the ambulance, coming to a stop a few feet away where Megan was kneeling on the side of Charlie that wasn't taken up by the paramedic that was examining him while he remained lying on his back on the ground. Breaking away from Don's hold, Alan dropped down beside Megan who looked at him, surprised by his sudden appearance.

Suddenly feeling a pressure on his knee, Charlie forced his bleary eyes to focus as he slowly lifted his head a little off Megan's jacket-pillow to find himself starring up into his father's anxious face, and figured that Alan must have latched on to his knee since both of his arms were already taken, his right one by the paramedic who was examining the bullet graze, the left one by both Megan and Don. He forced a faint smile onto his face for their dad's sake, mindful of course of his split lip, preferring to avoid the extra pain where he could.

"Hey Dad," he said, his quiet greeting barely audible over the din of the activity taking place at what was now an active crime scene. The feeling of his son's constant shaking under his hands made his heart clench in his chest and Alan swallowed hard in an attempt to keep at least some of his fear out of his voice. It didn't really work.

"Hey there Charlie," he said, absently rubbing Charlie's knee with his thumb while he divided his attention between his son's blood-covered arm and his pale, bruised, and tired-looking features. He chuckled half-heartedly, trying to lend a little lightness to such a nerve-wracking situation. "I turn my back for one second, and look at the trouble you get yourself into." The comment actually made Charlie laugh a little.

"Well Dad, I learn from the best," he murmured, looking over at Don who grinned back.

"And here you thought you'd never learn anything useful from me," he jibbed, giving the fingers on Charlie's left hand that were sticking out of the brace a small squeeze. Relaxing back down onto the jacket, Charlie shook his head slightly, his the expression on his face suddenly serious.

"I'm always learning the most important things from you Don," he said quietly, returning the squeeze as best he could. "More than you'll ever know."

The moment was interrupted when a second paramedic appeared beside their group with a stretcher, and the other three were made to move out of the way while the two medics carefully helped Charlie to stand for the brief second that it took for him to sit on the stretcher's surface, after which they pulled his legs on after him and fixed the back of the stretcher half-way to the upright position so that Charlie could remain mostly sitting rather than laying down. Just as they were getting ready to wheel him back to the ambulance however, one of the crime scene techs exited the house behind them, relaying information to his partner who had been standing on the lawn recording some of their findings, his voice loud enough for their group to catch every word.

"I found the murder weapon," he called. "It was up in the attic, right by the entrance that was just off the room where the body was."

All as one, they looked over at the man to see him proudly brandishing a large plastic bag, inside of which lay the bloody kitchen knife. When they returned their gazes to Charlie, it was just in time to see the few tears that had welled up in his averted eyes roll silently down his cheeks. Alarmed and even more confused than he'd been before, Alan watched mutely as they loaded Charlie into the back of the ambulance a few feet away from them before looking over at Don and Megan to see the same, but less intense expression of sadness, mixed in with their own anger. One thing was for sure: whatever had happened, it had been bad, _really_ bad, enough to leave Charlie beaten down and shot, and to leave Don and his partner looking like this... and he was done being left in the dark about it.

"I really think you ought to tell me what happened between now, and when I left half-an-hour ago," he said, his voice as steady as he could manage. Before either of the agents could respond however, one of the paramedics called out to them from outside the back of the ambulance.

"Do one of you guys want to ride with us to the hospital?" The answer came immediately.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Don said, and wasted no time in carefully climbing up onto the bumper, keeping one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs as he eased himself down onto the bench on his brother's left side and reclaimed his hold on Charlie's left hand, trying to ignore the blood that had saturated the upper part of the brace. Having given in to his exhaustion as well as the given drugs, Charlie lay unconscious on the stretcher, not awake to notice the stain he'd obtained while putting pressure on his shoulder earlier. As the paramedic hopped back in and closed the doors, calling to the driver that they were good to go, Don made a mental note to get a nurse to ask around for a new, clean brace - it was the least he could do, and not nearly enough. He wondered idly if he'd _ever_ be able to make up for the mistake that had almost cost him his brother, wondering at the same time, with a fair dose of fear, how Charlie would react towards it all once he was concious and recupperated.

Leaning back against the vehicles wall, never releasing Charlie's cold, limp hand, Don glanced quickly down at his watch and raised his eyebrows in surprise as he saw that it was only eleven-twenty-five in the morning; the day wasn't even half-way done - he found himself silently dreading whatever it was that the other half would bring.

Watching as the emergency vehicle drove off quickly down the street, Alan then turned back to Megan who met his gaze and grimaced slightly.

"I'll fill you in on the way to the hospital Alan," she said solemnly, pulling out her keys as she led the way over to her car. "But I have to warn you: it really isn't pretty."

Images of the bloody kitchen knife and Charlie's tear-streaked, bruised face flashed through his mind, and Alan sighed wearily as he climbed into the passenger seat, feeling as though he were a few decades older than he'd been when he'd last left this house, merely half-an-hour earlier.

"It never is Megan, it never is."

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_TBC_


	10. Friday: The Fifth Day, 11:40 AM

**A/N:** well, i can pretty much guess that by now, whichever of you have been with this puppy since the first chapter are just about ready to kick me in the face for taking so long to update -- however (and i'm not going into details) circumstances and events over the past few months kind of put my fanficions at the very bottom of my list of priorites, unfortunately. so, hopefully you all can forgive me, and be willing to stick with me for the rest of this :)

**Warning:** not only is this chapter exceedingly long, but it all is centered around hospital-time, so don't be sending me complaints about not enough happening -- (i would have continued it on to when they brought charlie home, but it was getting so friggin long that i figured i'd submit what i've got so that people won't be too tired to leave a review by the time they actually finish reading the chapter ;P)

and please don't forget R&R people! -- i live off reviews:) -- enjoy!**  
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* * *

**Chapter 10 - Friday, The Fifth Day (11:40 A.M)**

The silence following Megan's account of what she had guessed happened from what she'd seen and heard at Charlie's house was deafening, and it was with a certain amount of apprehension that she briefly looked away from the road that they were speeding down to Alan's face, trying to gauge his reaction. Throughout the entire time while she had been speaking, he'd done a remarkable job of keeping it together, managing to bite back most inadvertent gasps as the terror experienced by his sons that morning poured over and into him, so much so that Megan had been somewhat impressed with how well he seemed to be receiving it all. Now however, as she took in the paleness of his face, his wide, disbelieving gaze, and his lightly shaking hands, she wondered if perhaps she should have withheld some of the more gruesome aspects, such as the details behind the untimely demise of Charlie's and Don's attacker, until things had had a chance to calm down some. She imagined that the expression on her face would have been around the same level, were she in his shoes. After all, this was the second time in as many days that he'd come terrifyingly close to loosing both of his sons, a fact which was noticeably taking a toll on his fraying nerves.

It was a long moment before he gave his head a sharp shake to bring himself back to his senses, closing his previously gaping mouth and blinking to wet his dried-out eyes as he quickly looked back out at the traffic, watching it blur as they sped past, still unable to really believe what it was that he was hearing; Charlie, _his Charlie_, ever innocent and caring, then gentlest soul he'd ever encountered, someone who hadn't so much as lain a finger on another person in his entire life... and now, he'd been forced to _kill_, inadvertedly taking a life while trying to save Alan's, as well as his own... it was almost too much to bear. His lower lip began to tremble, but he hid it with a well-timed scrubbing of his face, taking a moment afterwards to close his eyes and attempt a few deep breaths to calm himself a little. It probably would have worked better if the second his eyes shut, the scene that he'd come home to didn't play out with sickening detail, allowing him to relive over and over the terror of seeing the coroner's van parked in front of Charlie's house, the pain that threatened to overwhelm him as he made his way towards the body-bag he'd thought held his son... the relief in finding out that he was alive only to have it dashed by the sinking feeling at the pain and sadness he'd seen in his youngest's eyes...

Abruptly Alan went rigid, opening his eyes to stare at nothing as another detail of that scene suddenly brought itself to his attention, a detail that concerned not Charlie, but this time the eldest Eppes brother... the startling detail of the blood dripping down Don's face, the deep bruise that covered his neck, and the way he'd held himself with a slumping posture, as though the effort that it was taking to remain on his feet was becoming too much, even for someone as resilient as him. He found himself frowning deeply, shaking his head at himself while his own furious voice resounded through his head, demanding to know how he couldn't have noticed sooner that not one but _both_ of his sons had been freshly injured, that they'd both been viciously attacked, both of them quite possibly by the man in the black bag, and both in dire need of his comfort while he'd stood there and focused all of his attention on just the one.

Resisting the urge to slap himself upside the head for such a foolish mistake, he finally turned back to Megan who, like the mind-reader she'd proven herself to be, seemed to be awaiting his inevitable question, her tense posture and iron grip on the steering wheel testament to just how hard her answer was going to be for him to hear.

"Megan... what happened to Don?" His quiet question, though anticipated, still sent her pulse racing as vivid memories of the attack at Don's apartment resurfaced in her mind, bringing with it a cold sweat that enveloped her body, making the hands that gripped the wheel clammy and slippery. She swallowed several times before finally finding the right words for her answer.

"It happened after we left a crime scene this morning," she started, trying to keep any wavering out of her tone for Alan's sake. "Since he'd managed to get a look at the suspect's face during pursuit -"

"Don was chasing a murderer? In his condition?" His sharp interruption made Megan flinch, and he quickly ducked his head in embarrassment. "Sorry - please continue." She was becoming more and more sure that she would do just about anything to not have to be the one to tell him what had happened, but was just as sure that there was no way that Alan would allow her to keep silent for the entire drive to the hospital, and so she obeyed and continued, her voice low.

"Like I was saying - since he managed to get a look at the guy's face, we stayed out long enough for him to describe the suspect to a department sketch artist, then I agreed to take him to his apartment for a quick stop to pick up a few of his things, after which I had had every intention of bringing him back to yours and Charlie's house." She didn't react to the nod of approval that her intentions had earned her, but merely focused on plowing on - the hard part was coming up. She swallowed hard, her grip tightening noticeably on the wheel, so much that Alan was becoming worried that she'd either split the skin on her knuckles, or break the knuckles themselves. However, her next sentence blew his worry for her hands out of the water. "As it turns out... the suspect was waiting for Don inside the apartment - attacked him probably a few minutes before I went up to check on him. He'd left his gun in my car... I - I almost didn't make it in time..."

Her voice trailed off, and she found herself oddly tongue-tied, but Alan had no need for her to finish, for right then the deep, dark bruise on Don's throat resurfaced in his mind, causing his eyes to squeeze shut as he unwillingly pictured Don pinned down, the other man's hands wrapped tightly around his throat, squeezing tighter by the second, cutting off his air...

It took quite the amount of effort to quell the choking sensation that the image instilled in him and even once he did, it was a while longer before he'd recovered his voice from where it'd sunk with his heart down into his stomach, and managed to force out a final question.

"How fast can this car go?" he whispered, staring intently out at the road through tear-filled eyes as though trying to see ahead of them to wherever the ambulance was by then, carrying both of his battered sons.

Megan's response was to push the gas pedal all the way down to the floor, and Alan clung tight to the armrest as they shot forward, weaving in between the other cars at practically break-neck speed. Even so, thinking about the condition, inside and out, that Don and Charlie were in, Alan couldn't help but think that they weren't going nearly fast enough.

* * *

**12:00 P.M**

If it hadn't have been for the two nurses and doctor that had intervened, nothing could've stopped Don from staying with his still unconscious brother as they wheeled him through the double doors in the ER and off to one of the curtained-off treatment cubicles. As it was, they almost didn't succeed in keeping him in the waiting room, even with the doctor gripping his shoulders in a gentle but unshakable grip while each nurse picked an arm to hold on to. For five minutes Don tried to get around them, first actually trying to push past them, using his FBI identification to try and get some pull, then trying whole-heartedly to tell them that with what his brother had just been through, there was no way that he should be without someone he knew when he woke up again. Their assurances that he probably wouldn't be awake for a little while anyways, considering the drugs administered on scene and the copious amount of blood lost did little by way of actually reassuring him, but in the end, he found himself finally giving up his efforts, deciding to unconsciously move his right arm back up to guard his left side.

Observing this movement, the doctor had blinked, then refocused his gaze with more intensity as he took in the rest of the agent's condition. It had taken him all of ten seconds to send one of the nurses off in search of a portable X-ray machine and to order the other nurse to follow as he brought Don through the double doors, causing Don to scowl once he realized that he wasn't in fact finally allowing him to go to Charlie, but was instead bringing him to an examination area of his own. Gently, the man had forced Don to sit on the gurney and had just as gently pushed Don's arm aside and had unbuttoned his dress-shirt, lifting up the bottom of the T-shirt underneath as nurse number one glided over with a tray carrying cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, a small packet of bandages, and stitching materials. Just looking at the needle and thread had made Don wince openly as the vivid memory of being hit not once, but twice with the butt of their dead suspect's gun resurfaced in his mind, the wince immediately followed by an outright grimace as the doctor had carefully probed on and around the old bruises marking broken ribs, and fresh bruises marking the possible need for re-setting.

By the time nurse number one had finished cleaning the gash on his head and had begun stitching, the doctor had started scrutinizing the ugly image that was his neck, and nurse number two had returned at a fast walk, wheeling with her the sought-after X-ray machine, which the doctor had used right away to confirm his suspicions about Don's ribs, after which he'd moved on to his neck. The slight frown that had creased the graying man's face had done nothing to reassure Don, who had decided that he was done simply letting himself be looked after without being consulted about the results. Before he could tiredly demand an explanation though, the doctor, seeming to have read his frustration, had spoken up, his eyes never leaving the screen that had been positioned in front of Don's neck.

"Well Agent Eppes, it looks to me as though whoever is responsible for this might not have had to wait long enough for you to suffocate; the amount of pressure needed for this kind of result could have very well broken your neck before you could entirely run out of air," he'd said solemnly before turning a somewhat curious gaze on him. Ignoring the obvious inquiry as to what had happened that was in the man's eyes, Don had grunted out a question of his own, trying his best to ignore to constant stinging of the nurse's needle and thread.

"How bad is the damage?" Studying the screen for a moment longer, the doctor had finally straightened himself out and moved the machine aside, talking as he went.

"Well, clearly your neck wasn't broken, but you did come a little close - your windpipe, and obviously the tissue around it, have been severely bruised, your windpipe very nearly crushed, and the C1 and C2 bones in your spinal column just at the base of your skull have endured slight hyper-extension, with the beginnings of a stress fracture on C1." Don had blinked and remained silent at the doctor's report, not entirely sure of what the last part had meant, knowing only that whatever it was, it was going to keep him stuck on desk duty for even longer than he already was. _Just great_.

Seeing his slight apprehension, the doctor had offered forth a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry Agent Eppes - such an injury, though potentially serious if ignored, is painlessly remedied, and quickly enough at that," he'd said, dismissing nurse number two as he moved off to a wall cabinet and nurse number one finished stitching and taped a padded square of gauze over the wound. Returning to Don's side, he'd dismissed nurse number one and had held up what it was that he'd been retrieving, causing Don to sigh inwardly.

"Now, this C-collar is just a precaution to guard your neck against further damage, but all the same, I advise you wear it for at least twenty-four to forty-eight hours." As he'd secured the collar around his patient's neck, he'd given him a knowing look. "And since you strike me as the type that would only return here willingly if you were either dead, dying, or being held at gun-point..." Despite the morning's events, Don couldn't help but snort at the doctor's choice of words. "...then I will have a nurse describe to you in full detail what you should keep an eye out for in the days to come once you've removed the collar, such as any abnormal cracking, popping, or over-extension." Once he'd finished, he'd given Don a sympathetic look. "And I'm going to have to re-set your ribs." Even though Don had been expecting it, that didn't make him dread it any less, though he did a remarkable job of hiding it as he wordlessly laid back on the gurney that the doctor had straightened out, grinding his teeth together at the pain that made it past the small dose of morphine he'd been given while the doctor prodded and massaged the bones back into precise alignment before helping Don to sit back up so that he could tightly rewrap his chest with a fresh tenser bandage.

When at last he'd finished, he'd asked Don if they'd gotten all of his injuries taken care of. Though he'd wanted to nod, for it still hurt his throat to speak, he'd been inconveniently unable to accomplish more than a slight twitch downwards, and so swallowed a few times, preparing to bite the bullet. Luckily for him, the doctor had seemed to pick up on the meaning of the twitch, and so merely gave a warm smile, patting him on the shoulder before leading the way down the hall to a more private waiting room, promising to come and get Don himself once he was allowed to see Charlie and pausing only long enough to finally introduce himself as Dr. Keany before once more disappearing into the busy hallway. Don hadn't been sure if he'd secured the room because of his high law-enforcement status, or merely because Dr. Keany had felt pity for the man whose brother had been shot, and whose own collection of bruises and injuries made it look like he himself had been run over by a car - twice.

So that was how Don found himself presently alone in the quiet room, sitting almost too comfortably in the cushioned chair and trying not to fall asleep so that he'd be awake when his father or Dr. Keany arrived, whichever came first, for he had the suspicion that if he fell asleep, no one would be able to wake him for at least a day. Said task was becoming exceedingly difficult as his drained body battled against the side-affects of the morphine as well as the accumulated exhaustion from almost a week with hardly any sleep at all, and any sleep he did get entirely unsatisfying as it was usually gotten with him sitting at his computer chair, his head resting on his desk beside his keyboard. Glancing wearily at his watch, he found he couldn't believe he'd only actually been waiting for ten minutes, feeling as though he'd been waiting there alone for hours. He supposed he had his exhaustion, combined with the whirlwind of thoughts speeding through his head to thank for that.

Carefully avoiding touching the bandage on the side of his head, he scrubbed both hands over his face in an effort to keep himself alert, his thoughts inevitably bringing him back through the morning's horrors, seeming to enjoy parading one terrible image after another in front of his mind's eye: the sight of the deceased officer's slain widow and her young son, having just lost a husband, a father, two days ago only to loose their own lives today; the intense look of concern on Megan's face that he'd woken up to after nearly being strangled to death on his apartment floor; the trails and smears of his Charlie's blood scattered all through a house that had once been considered safe, a haven, a place where only good memories were formed, a place where evil should never be able to enter; Charlie's hands and body shaking, still holding the bloody knife - and the _look_ in his eyes...

Unwillingly lost in his thoughts, Don didn't even hear it when the door to his waiting room was opened.

* * *

By now, Alan was frantic to see his boys, although he did his best to appear calm, cool and collected on the outside as he strode down the hallway towards the room he'd been directed to, Megan having to practically jog in order to keep up with him. 

By the time they'd come to a screeching halt outside the ER's entrance, the ambulance that had brought in his sons was being parked back in the garage at the far end of the curb and so the two of them had immediately raced inside and towards the reception desk. Much to their increasing edginess, the line that was ahead of them had seemed to be moving at little more than a snail's pace, and so it was with little hesitation that Megan pushed her way to the front of the line, shoving her badge in the face of the protesting receptionist before demanding the room numbers of both Eppes brothers.

In all likelihood, had it not been for the government credentials, the woman would have shot back a less-than-kind remark to her demands, but even so, the FBI badge had done nothing to keep her from leveling Megan with an icy glare before searching for a minute and reporting to her that one Don Eppes had already been treated and released, while a Charles Eppes was still in with Dr. Truman. At that point, Alan had placed his hand calmingly on Megan's arm to keep her from snapping out any more requests, and had politely inquired as to which room Charlie was in and if she could possibly tell him where to find his other son, knowing perfectly well that Don would have remained close by while waiting for news on his brother. His politeness earned him a somewhat softer gaze, but before the woman could answer, someone had tapped him on the shoulder and so he had turned around, Megan following suit, to find himself facing a middle-aged man in a white lab coat who introduced himself as Dr. Keany. He had wasted no time in telling them that he had treated Don himself, after which he'd left him in a private waiting room and, telling them which room they could find Don in, he'd left them, telling them he'd meet them in said room once he'd caught up with Charlie's doctor.

Finally reaching the closed door labeled simply "Room 12", Alan paused only for a second to take a deep breath, leveling his breathing before turning the knob and slowly pushing the door open, allowing himself and Megan to enter, stopping just inside. As promised, Don was already there, slumped forward in a comfortable-looking chair up against the wall opposite the door, his chin resting half-enveloped by his loosely closed fists as he stared unblinkingly at the floor in front of him. In that moment, he seemed to be taking after Charlie in the fact that he clearly hadn't heard them come in, didn't seem he was likely to notice them on his own any time soon, and so the two of them approached him cautiously, sitting on either side of him in silence.

Only when they were seated beside him did they finally notice the C-collar secured around his neck that his hands and arms had hidden from their view when they first entered, the plexi-glass collar keeping his neck ramrod-straight and succeeding in completely covering the horrible bruises that Alan knew were there. At the sight of it however, he couldn't hold in a quiet but sharp intake of breath, the small sound being enough to draw Don's attention as he jerked in his seat, his hands falling away from his chin as his eyes found first Megan then his father, whose anxious features made him look quickly back to the floor; he'd felt almost more anxiety of his own than he could take that morning without taking on his father's as well. Still looking at the floor, Don finally broke the silence, his voice still more hoarse than he would have liked.

"It's not as bad as it looks Dad." The comment drew an incredulous sniff from Alan as he looked to his son's partner, the expression on her face as she stared at the collar clearly indicating that she too was caught a little off-guard at the apparent severity of Don's newest injury. He turned back to Don.

"Not as bad as it looks? I seriously doubt that... have you _seen_ you Donnie?" Sighing, he responded, still refusing to look at either of them.

"Doc says that it's not too serious - this thing's only got to stay on for around a day, two at the most, so don't worry too much. Besides, I'm not the one you should be worried about." The last part was said in a whisper, his already quiet voice nearly becoming inaudible. He couldn't hide it when his eyes filled with moisture, but he stubbornly blinked it back, swallowing several times just to make sure that all of his fear, all of his uncertainty and distress would stay where they belonged: buried.

Alan couldn't help but shake his head at him, marveling at the fact that a man who could be such a brilliant investigator and agent could be so clueless when it came to the workings of a family.

"I do worry about your brother Donnie, but you know... I do have _two_ sons, both of whom seem to have a serious knack for getting hurt lately, and I am perfectly capable of dividing any worry and attention I feel inclined to give between them both." Still feeling drained from the first half of the day, Don found he couldn't come up with anything good to use as a response to that at the moment and so chose instead to say nothing at all, moving instead to replace his chin on his fisted hands.

It didn't take a profiler to figure out that these two needed a moment to themselves, and so Megan stood and left the room, telling them over her shoulder that she was going outside to give David and Colby a call to fill them in on what had happened before she closed the door behind her, leaving them alone at last. There was a long stretch of silence where neither one of them spoke, until Alan finally had had enough and grabbed firm hold of Don's wrist, one of the only parts of him so far that hadn't been bruised and/or broken, successfully drawing his clearly exhausted gaze. The firmness on his face softened as he regarded him for a brief second before finally speaking once more.

"Megan told me what happened, to you as well as to Charlie," he started, his tone quiet, cautious as he waited to see how Don would react, _if _he would react.

Nothing.

He pressed on. "And I realize quite clearly that despite the fact that the man responsible for this morning has been, as Charlie would say, taken out of the equation, you're still beating yourself up about not protecting your brother, about not being there for him when he needed you, when you feel you should have been, no matter what was going on." At that Don looked up at him sharply, and Alan couldn't help the short chuckle that escaped his lips. "Don't look so surprised - I did raise you from birth after all. Wouldn't you think that I'd know how your mind works by now?"

Once more lacking an answer, Don sighed, again rubbing a hand over his face in a weak attempt to battle the tiredness that was burning his eyes and causing his eyelids to droop a little. _Man, I really should've slept in this morning, get a little extra sleep while I still could; all getting up early did was give me and Charlie another near-death experience a-piece._

"You won't be able to convince me not to be mad at myself for not being there with him, because that is exactly where I would've been had I just let my team take over until tomorrow like I was suppose to - I would've been at home, I would've been able to keep that monster from hurting him," Don whispered. Alan didn't miss the fresh bought of swallows and rapid blinking. "Me not being there not only led to him being shot but it... I forced him to take a human life, Dad. Can you imagine what that's going to do to him?"

It was then that Don finally decided to face him, the look in his eyes speaking volumes to Alan of the emotions that he refused to bring up: he was scared - he had been hurt, and his brother had been hurt in his absence, and now he was down-right terrified of the consequences that would come because of it... and in the end, he just needed his dad to tell him that it was all right, that things could still be fixed, that he wasn't too late. Alan allowed a comforting, warm smile to be displayed on his face as his other hand joined the first on Don's arm, proceeding to make gentle rubbing motions with his thumbs. The combined effect was instantaneous and he watched as a little bit of that fear was eased away.

"I won't lie to you Donnie, it's going to be far from easy for Charlie to cope with all of this, but you are forgetting two very important things: firstly, that no matter how terrible the moments leading us here have been, both of you are still alive and with no permanently scarring injuries - a blessing that should not be ignored; secondly, your brother knows just as well as I do, maybe even better, that you were merely following your instincts in leaving this morning, and that the odds were completely against you ever being able to get back in time, no matter how badly you wanted to or how hard you tried... and he's already forgiven you, probably didn't even think there was anything to blame you for in the first place, knowing him. At this point, _you_ just need to forgive _yourself_." This brought a small, sad smile to his son's face - a small improvement to the previous despair, but an improvement none-the-less.

"I'll work on that Dad," he whispered, and Alan returned the smile as he pulled Don into a gentle yet supremely comforting hug. Don allowed himself to relent to the warmth being offered, and they stayed like that for a long moment, both ignoring the awkwardness of hugging whilst one was sporting a C-collar and simply allowing themselves to both be soothed by the other's touch for as long as the hug would last.

Several minutes went by before they finally separated, Don sitting half slumped in his seat while Alan left a hand on his shoulder, as though still reassuring himself that he was in fact actually there, still living and breathing of his own accord. Not long afterwards, the door to their waiting room was opened once more, and this time it was to admit the man they'd been waiting so anxiously to see. Both of them were on their feet immediately, all previous wariness forgotten as Dr. Keany waited for them to reach his side, after which he led them back out into the hall and to the left. Aiming the three of them towards the bank of elevators, Dr. Keany lead them to one which was being held open for them by another white-clad man who he introduced as Dr. Truman, who'd been seeing to Charlie since he was first brought into the ER. Wishing them the best, Dr. Keany took off back towards the ER's treatment cubicles, and after they'd boarded the elevator and Dr. Truman had hit the button for the third floor, he turned to face them.

"First off, I'd like to ensure you that Charles is going to be just fine." Two almost inaudible releases of held breaths briefly brought a kind smile to Dr. Truman's face, though his voice remained professional. "I will say though that he did loose a somewhat alarming amount of blood, which is the main reason why we've gotten him settled into a room for the day. The bullet graze on his right shoulder was considerably deep, nearly going down to the bone, just barely classifying as a graze rather than a full-fledged GSW - it took two layers of stitches to close it up, and might require a third layer or a row of surgical staples if it fails to heal properly in the next few weeks."

Neither Don nor Alan were sure whether or not they should be grateful for the man's brutal honesty or if they should flinch away from it, but they weren't given the time to decide as the elevator doors opened and Dr. Truman led the way out and down yet another hall, finishing his report.

"So for the moment, we're giving him blood-transfusions to replace what he's lost, along with a hefty dose of electrolytes via an I.V line, and have given him a small dose of morphine to keep him comfortable until he is conscious to receive oral painkillers." He paused in his talking as they came to a halt outside the closed door that presumably stood between them and Charlie, Don taking this opportunity to voice the question that had occurred to him after what they'd heard in the elevator.

"You said that the blood-loss was the 'main reason' for why he's here for the day - what's the other reason?" Dr. Truman raised an eyebrow, the look he was giving him clearly questioning how it was that he even needed to ask.

"Charles is suffering from extreme exhaustion, and semi-severe mal-nutrition," he said matter-of-factly, hands stuffed casually in the pockets of his lab-coat. "These symptoms, combined with the after-effects of his recent injuries have him running a low-grade fever as well."

Don and Alan exchanged a pained glance; they'd both thought that since Don had first talked to Charlie that night in the garage at the start of the week, Charlie had started taking better care of himself again, had calmed down enough to remember that he was indeed still human, and not just a super-computer that had no need for food and rest in between working. Apparently they'd thought wrong.

Dr. Truman seemed to disregard the expressions on their faces as he continued.

"We've put him on anti-bodies for the fever, started an intravenous line for nutrients, and have given him a little something to help him sleep at least until this evening. If all goes well and his fever doesn't get any higher and/or drops, then you may be able to take him home tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest." He didn't wait for his prognosis to be acknowledged before he turned the handle and let them into the slightly darkened room, stepping aside to let them inside while he remained in the doorway. "If you have any further questions or concerns, press the call-button or go to the nurses station and have one of the nurses page me, and I'll come as soon as I can." Offering up one last kind half-smile, Dr. Truman left once more, closing the door quietly behind him.

Unable to dredge up the energy to try and figure out the estranged doctor's constant shift from compassionate to impersonal and back again, the two Eppes men turned back towards the bed that was located on the other side of the room by the window and slowly made their way over to sit in the chairs positioned on either side of it by Charlie's head. Once they'd both settled in for the duration, getting as comfortable as they could in the inhumanely uncomfortable chairs, they both sat in silence, studying Charlie's appearance with equal intensity, seeing that there were several I.V lines running into both of his arms, just as Dr. Truman had promised, three of said I.V's snaking down from bags of clear fluid that were each indiscernible from the next. It was the last I.V that caught their attention, its red contents easily identifiable and making Don's shoulders slump just that little bit more as the full reality of the morning's events came crashing down on him all over again and he sat staring morosely at Charlie's slackened, pale features, remembering in vivid detail the trail of blood running through the house, his feeling of helplessness as they'd waited for help to arrive, Charlie bleeding and shaking on the ground between them.

Idly smoothing back the curls from his youngest's bruised face, Alan looked back up at Don and could tell immediately when his thoughts returned to all that had happened earlier, his emotions as easily read as they had been in the waiting room downstairs. Considering it for a moment, he at last came to a decision and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Charlie's forehead before standing and moving around to Charlie's left side to stand beside Don, his hand moving to a slumped shoulder.

"Let's go grab something to eat Donnie - I haven't eaten since early this morning, and I have a feeling you haven't eaten today at all, so we could both do with some lunch." When Don looked up at him, he sighed inwardly at the stubbornness and defiance that still shone there, no matter how tired and worn-out he had become.

"I'm not leaving; I want to be here for him when he wakes up," he said adamantly, returning his gaze to Charlie's face as he carefully picked up his brace-clad left hand. He was glad to see that someone had already exchanged the blood-stained brace for a clean one, and even more relieved that they had done so before they'd arrived for he would do quite well with not having to see such a sharp reminder of their most recent run-in with the serial murderers. Sighing out loud this time, Alan crouched down beside Don's chair, using one hand to gently turn Don's face towards him so that he could be sure he had his full attention.

"I understand why that is important to you Don - I feel the same way. But his doctor told us that he'll be asleep until tonight anyways, so we might as well be well-fed when that time comes."

"But -"

"No 'but's," he said firmly, carefully removing Charlie's hand from his and placing it down on the mattress before just as carefully pulling Don up from his seat and towards the door. "The longest it will take us to find some food and eat it is half-an-hour - and I'll take this opportunity to remind you that it is only..." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "...twelve-thirty, which means that the evening is a long way off yet, and you've got more than enough time to ensure that you're taking good care of yourself." When Don still looked hesitant, Alan allowed a little of his hidden anxiousness to trickle into his tone as he fell back on something that Eppes men usually tended to avoid like the plague: honestly expressing how he felt. He normally didn't like resorting to guilting people into doing something, but in this case, he felt it was justified. "Donnie... I really wouldn't like it very much if I ended up having to see both of you in a hospital bed because you wouldn't take the time to eat and rest - just seeing one of you like this," he whispered, shooting a glance over at Charlie, "is almost more than I can stand."

By the look that immediately settled over Don's face, he could tell that his words had served their purpose perfectly and effectively, and he felt a twinge of guilt at having used them but pushed it down as he and Don made their way back downstairs towards the cafeteria, telling himself that it had had to be done, for Don's own good.

The two of them, after standing in line for food for the better part of ten minutes, sat down at one of the many tables and ate in complete silence, the air filled only with the faint scratching of their plastic spoons against their ceramic plates as they each dug into their helpings of macaroni and cheese, each appreciating the sparse energy it gave them despite its undercooked residual taste. Alan couldn't tell if Don had eaten so quickly because his hunger wouldn't let him go any slower, or if he was aiming to get back to Charlie's bedside as soon as possible, but in under five minutes, he'd cleared off his plate, downed the rest of his stale coffee, and was waiting for Alan to finish, trying his best to hide his impatience as his fingers fidgeted restlessly with his spoon.

After he'd continued eating for another few minutes, Alan began to worry that Don was just about ready to snatch away his plate and empty the rest of it into the garbage so that they could leave, and so quickly shoveled the remaining spoonfuls into his mouth and followed his eldest over to the dish counter. Don practically threw his dishes at the poor woman behind the counter and walked as fast as he could manage back towards the elevators, leaving Alan to hastily apologize to the woman for the scare before taking off after him, practically running into the elevator Don was holding open if only to appease his openly urgent need to get back to Charlie's room. It wasn't long before the doors opened again, and Don all but jumped off and sped-walked back down the hall, skidding to a halt outside the room's door as he heard suddenly heard Colby's voice off to his left.

"Excuse me; we're with the FBI - Special Agents Granger, Sinclair and Reeves." He turned in the direction of the nurses' station in time to see each of his team-members flash their I.D at the elderly nurse sitting behind the desk, who seemed to be at least mildly impressed as she paused in her paperwork. "A bureau consultant by the name of Charles Eppes was brought in not too long ago, and we were directed to this floor. Could you tell us which room he's in?" Before she could answer, Don called out to them.

"Down this way guys."

The sound of Don's weary voice just barely made it to their ears, and they turned almost as one to see their boss practically slumping against the wall beside a closed door they assumed to lead to Charlie's room. Without sparing the nurse a second glance, the team rushed down the hall towards him, reaching his side not long after Alan, who had decided to walk rather than run off the elevator. Though Megan had told both Colby and David her account of all that had happened that morning and of the neck brace that Don now sported, seeing his whole appearance in person was another story, and brought open concern to their faces.

"How long do you have to wear it?" Colby asked, eyes shifting between the collar and the thick bandage on Don's head.

"About a day or two," he muttered in response, clearly not thrilled at the prospect. All four smiled slightly at his tone, even that small action doing wonders to ease a little bit of the stress that had been building steadily all week, and was probably due to sky-rocket by the next day.

"What about your ribs?" David asked, eyeing the way he was leaned carefully against the wall, still slightly bent.

"The ER doctor re-set them after the stitches and the C-collar," he said, wincing at the mere memory off it. Deciding that - although they were well intended - he couldn't take any more sympathetic looks, he abruptly changed the subject. "We were just coming back from lunch -"

"_Running_ back, is more like it," Alan interjected, crossing his arms over his chest and giving him a pointed look. Don continued, ignoring both the statement and the look.

"- and were just about to settle in to wait for Charlie to wake up, if you wanted to hang out for a few minutes," he said as he opened the door and led the way inside.

David and Colby, neither having yet seen Charlie, were clearly taken aback by just how battered their friend had become since they'd last seen him, the split lip and dark bruise covering his cheekbone contrasting sharply with how pale he'd become. Looking back and forth between the brothers, the rest of the room's occupants couldn't help but marvel at just how alike the two of them looked now, bruises and all. Colby looked back over at Don, surprised to see him staring at him intently.

"Did you get an I.D on the suspect at Charlie's house?" he asked, as he crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back against the wall beside the window. Colby met his gaze.

"Not at first," he admitted. "We ran his prints through the F.B.I and P.D database and didn't get any hits." He paused and glanced over at Charlie's sleeping form hesitantly. Catching on to his concern, Don was quick to reassure him.

"Don't worry about waking him up, his doctor gave him something to help him sleep - turns out he hasn't been doing that enough lately." His jaw clenched, and he nodded at Colby to continue, the younger agent doing just that.

"But then I remembered the statement you gave about that night when you were attacked outside the office, how fast you and Agent Quinn said he moved, and the type of moves he pulled on you to take you down..." Don expression darkened noticeably at the memory. "...and I thought that it sounded a helluva lot like some of the stuff I learned in week one of basic training when I was in the military. So, on a hunch, I ran his prints through the army's database and came up with this." He pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his jacket's inside pocket, stepping closer and handing it to Don.

"'Sergeant John Baker, age thirty-four'... born and raised right here in L.A," he read out loud. David spoke next.

"Apparently Baker went MIA from his unit about nine months back, hadn't been seen or heard from since."

"What about his family? Does he have any here in L.A?" Megan asked, walking over to stand beside Don and look at the printed page herself. David shook his head.

"No, not any more." He pulled out a printed sheet of his own, also handing it over for Don's inspection. "At one point, he did have a wife and daughter here in town, but according to hospital and morgue records, both were killed around four months before he disappeared."

"How'd they die?"

"Fatal gunshot wounds; wife died on scene, daughter bled-out in the ambulance." Don's brow furrowed.

"Drive-by shooting?" Colby stepped back in.

"It didn't say, but we're still looking into it." Glancing at the pages he held one last time, Don finally shook his head, handing both sheets over to Megan.

"Let me know what you guys find out, 'cause I've got a wild hunch that their deaths have a lot to do with his involvement in this thing." Both men nodded and headed out, promising to drop by after shift that night before they left the room. Once they'd left, Don followed his father's example and reclaimed the left hand seat beside Charlie's bed, already wishing that he'd hurry and wake-up; his complete and total stillness and silence was seriously unnerving, unnatural. He almost didn't hear Megan speak, despite the room's absolute quiet.

"When did his doctor say he'd be discharged?" she asked, speaking quietly instinctively. Don answered without looking away from Charlie's face.

"He said he'd probably be ready to leave by tonight, after he's woken back up that is." Megan nodded her acknowledgement before starting for the door.

"I'm going to head back to Charlie's house and put a rush on the clean-up crew," she said. "Since the attacker is dead, and the attacked still alive, there isn't much for the crime-scene techs to process anyways - I'll make sure everything's done by tonight." Both Don and Alan thanked her, earning a reassuring smile before she too was gone, leaving the room silent once more, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor and the quite breathing of the room's three occupants.

A quick glance down at his watch told Don that it was only five minutes after one, and he sighed wearily as he once more picked up his brother's hand and settled in for what was going to be a long wait.

* * *

_The house was quiet, had been for hours. His bedroom was almost pitch black, save for what little light was coming from the alarm clock on his night table. His heart was beating a little too slow to be considered normal, and somehow he knew that that was not a good sign though he couldn't say exactly why, aside of course from the fact that with it's slowness, he should be unconscious at this point - but he wasn't; he was standing there, in the middle of his floor, very much conscious, and he was holding something in his right hand, something with a long, solid grip that felt warm... sticky. _

_His brow furrowed in confusion and slowly, he lowered his gaze at the same time as he lifted his hand, bringing it close enough so that he could see what it was. He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared in horror at the knife whose handle his fingers were wrapped securely around, the sickening coppery smell of the sticky substance wafting up to suffocate him - it was covered in blood._

_He wanted to scream but the scream caught in his throat and suddenly he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think past the fact that he was holding a knife that was coated in somebody's blood. He wasn't aware of the tears cascading down his face, didn't notice the silent sobs that sent his body shaking or that his heart had finally sped up and was pounding painfully in his chest. What he did suddenly become aware of however was that he wasn't alone in the room, there was someone else there with him... but he couldn't hear them breathing._

_Suddenly light from the hall flooded the room and he wished more than anything that he was blind, that he didn't even have eyes - _anything_ would have been better than having to look at this._

_It wasn't only the knife, but both of his hands that were painted red, that horrible acrid stench filling his mouth and nose despite the fact that he still hadn't taken a breath. With wide, disbelieving eyes he looked past his raised hands and finally saw him, the man that he was in the room with - he was sprawled out on the floor facedown, his blood pooling around his motionless body. _No...

_Shaking uncontrollably, he finally turned, wanting to see who it was that had opened the door in the first place._ Oh God...

_There, standing motionless in the doorway, expressions of anger, horror, and resentfulness etched into their once kind faces were Don and his dad; his dad was staring unblinkingly at the body while his brother's eyes locked with his. When Don spoke, his voice was a low hiss, any love that had once been there and directed at him completely erased from existence._

_"What have you _done_ Charlie?" Ignoring the burning of his lungs that demanded he take a full breath rather than the sparse gasps he was managing, Charlie's left hand reached out and he stepped towards them, needing their comfort and consoling more than ever. His actions only made Don's eyes narrow and he took a large step back from the doorway into the hall, pulling their father with him as he spoke again, his voice still low, now containing a silent warning. "Stay away from us Charlie." He obediently froze, looking desperately to his father, hoping that maybe he would still want him, even if his big brother didn't. To his dismay, the expression on his father's face matched that on Don's as he shook his head slowly._

_"No son of mine is a murderer." And with that, they both turned and left, the door to his room slamming shut, sending the room once more into darkness. Something inside Charlie shattered then, and his tears doubled as he dropped to his knees, finally finding it in him to let loose one long, sorrowful cry._

_He had lost his family._

-----

**8:30 P.M.**

It took more energy than Don was willing to admit for him to be able to stand from the chair that he'd barely left for the past seven-and-a-half hours, deciding that he was due for a good stretch as he shuffled over to the window and stared out at the setting sun. It took a lot of willpower to resist the urge to walk once more down the hall to the nurses station and ask - for the eleventh time in the last few hours - why it was that Charlie hadn't woken up yet. Probably the only thing that was keeping him from doing just that was that the condition his father had set when he relented to not forcing Don to come eat supper with him in the cafeteria had been that he stop bothering the nurses so much and stop worrying; Charlie would wake up when he was ready.

Don shook his head impatiently. How was he _not_ suppose to worry? They had just endured what was probably the worst day of their lives - second only to the day their mother had died - and now his baby brother wasn't waking up like they'd said he would, even after he'd slept through the entire afternoon and early evening without so much as a twitch, not when Megan returned at six to report that Charlie's house was as good as new, not even when the quiet of the room was disrupted as Charlie received a six-year-old roommate shortly after until the hospital could find a room for him in the pediatrics ward.

The final time that someone had been in the room aside from Don or Alan had been at seven-thirty when Larry and Amita had shown up, a small but colorful bunch of potted flowers cradled in her hands. By the look on her face, Don had been sure she'd been on the brink of tears for the entire half-hour they were there, but she'd successfully held them in, settling instead for biting her lip while she held Charlie's uninjured hand tightly between hers. Don couldn't figure out why those two could never get it together when they obviously cared so much about one another... one of life's great mysteries, evidently.

With a tired sigh, Don finally turned away from the window, returning once more to 'his' seat on Charlie's left side. He wished that he could rub away the tension he felt building in his neck muscles, silently cursing the C-collar that was guarding them as he leaned back in the chair, draping both arms over the armrests in an attempt to get comfortable. Despite how impossible it had seemed, he actually found himself drifting off, his own lack of sleep and over-abundance of activity finally catching up to him and making his eyelids droop. _Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to nap a little, even if it is in this damned chair - I guess I don't have to worry about getting a kink in my neck..._ He smiled a little at the thought, and allowed his eyes to close.

The sound of a quiet shift on the bed's paper-like sheets was all it took for his eyes to snap open, all tiredness forgotten in an instant as he leaned forward excitedly, gripping the edge of the bed as he looked to his brother's face. He was disappointed to see that his eyes were still closed, and found himself wondering if his mind had been playing tricks on him when suddenly Charlie's lips formed a slight frown, his brow furrowing as his head lolled to the left, allowing Don to see that his eyes were darting back and forth underneath the lids. Don smiled broadly as he realized that if he was dreaming, it meant that the sleep-inducing drugs were wearing off, and he would be waking up soon.

Still smiling as he planned out teasing Charlie about sleeping late, Don was just reaching for the call button so that the nurses could alert the doctor as well as his father when a short, strangled gasp drew his attention back to the bed where he was surprised to see that the frown on Charlie's face had morphed into what resembled a silent cry, his mouth open slightly, his forehead scrunched. Temporarily putting off calling someone, Don moved back over to the side of the bed, sitting back down on the edge of his seat, staring at him.

"Charlie?" No response was forthcoming, but at that moment the previously slow and steady beep of the heart-monitor rapidly increased to an alarming speed, and he felt a lump form in his throat as tears began streaking down Charlie's face, his panic spiking when his brother suddenly started to shake, just like he had done that morning on the walkway in front of his house, his breaths coming out in gasps. Don leapt to his feet, and placed both hands on Charlie's left shoulder and started to gently shake him, wary of using too much force when he was injured like he was. "Charlie? Common Charlie, wake up, wake up for me bro, it's time to wake up." Not only did Charlie not wake up, but he seemed to worsen, the shaking consuming his entire body and he sounded more like he was choking than breathing.

"Donnie? What's going on?" His father's sudden appearance in the doorway made Don jump a little and he turned to watch him hurry over, concern etched into his every movement as he stared with wide eyes down at Charlie. Don allowed himself to be comforted with the extra help as he answered.

"Well, good news is that the drugs are wearing off - bad news is that now he's having one helluva nightmare." His choice of words may have seemed light, but his tone openly displayed his anxiety as he stared at the tears that just kept on coming. Alan forced aside the anxiety he too was feeling - for the moment at least - and moved to the opposite side of the bed, moving up close to Charlie's head, looking down at him as he alternated between thumbing away some of the tears and running his fingers soothingly through his matted hair.

"Son... Charlie... wake up... it's alright, it's just a nightmare, wake up for us... open your eyes," he said in the most gentle tone he could manage, while Don resumed his light shaking of Charlie's shoulder, contributing his own quiet reassurances.

Suddenly a cry tore its way up through Charlie's throat and past his lips, its pitch melding in with the frenetic beeps of the heart-monitor. The sound was unlike any they'd ever heard, one filled with such pain and loss and sorrow that it made both of them freeze in their actions, the color draining from their faces as they exchanged a desperate look, wondering what in the world Charlie was dreaming to bring forth this kind of reaction, but on the same token, almost afraid to find out. Then Don's mouth set itself in a determined line, and he quickly positioned himself right beside Charlie's ear, knowing that he needed to put a stop to whatever nightmare his little brother was having - if the soaring heart-rate and full-bodied tremors were any indication - and was done being gentle about it; desperate times called for desperate measures.

"CHARLIE - WAKE UP!" His booming yell echoed loudly through the room, making even Alan want to cover his ears, and he hadn't been the one whose ear had been right next to it.

Charlie's reaction was instantaneous. With a loud, explosive gasp he shot up in his bed, immediately scrambling frantically backwards along the horizontal frame, pushing himself up against the wall as his chest heaved with his pants and his eyes blinked rapidly, trying desperately to clear them so that he could face whatever new threat he'd come across. Don and Alan waited semi-patiently for him to calm down a little, knowing that touching him now, even if it was for comfort, would only set him off and make his current state worse - and the last thing either of them wanted was for the doctor to walk in and sedate him when he'd just woken up after being unconscious for the day.

It took him a little while - a time period filled only with the sound of his breathing and that of two others as his vision gradually focused - but eventually the beeping on the monitor gradually slowed until it was almost back to its optimal range, and his eyes finally adjusted to the odd lighting of the room. Seeing his family standing there staring at him sent mixed emotions seeping through his still lightly shaking frame, and he wasn't sure whether to be ecstatic beyond words that there were there, or mind-numbingly terrified instead, as his most recent nightmare suddenly had the potential to come true.

Both of the elder Eppes men watched him cautiously as he slowly looked back and forth between them and slowly, they started walking towards him, unsure of how to react when Charlie's wary expression suddenly crumbled, leaving only visible torment and anguish in its wake. Neither could keep their mouths from dropping open at the first sentences to leave Charlie's mouth in close to nine hours.

"_I - I'm sorry I k-killed him. Please... don't hate me_," he whispered brokenly, his tone and dark eyes pleading with them as much as his words had. There was a brief moment where the two were shocked into silence and they allowed what was being said to truly sink in.

"Charlie..." Alan breathed, and Don shook his head fiercely.

"Don't you even _dare_ start thinking that way Charlie, I won't let you," he said, moving towards him and pulling him into a gentle but secure hug. "You did what you did because you had no choice, and I would never even dream of hating you for it." After a moment, Alan sat down on his side, enveloping both of his sons.

"Don's right Charlie: you were forced into a position where you had to defend yourself, and it took a turn for the worst, even though you would've never wanted for it to happen that way - it was an accident, and one that saved your life, and mine as well as Megan tells it," he whispered, hugging them both tighter while being careful to still avoid Charlie's right shoulder. "In short: we will both love you no matter what, and after all is said and done, myself and your brother are more thankful than we can say for what you did."

For a minute Charlie didn't react to their hug, just remained stiff, shaking, and silent as the tears continued to fall, almost like he still wasn't sure if what they had said was true, if they'd actually meant it. Then slowly, gradually, he pressed forward into them, pushing his head into the crook between his father's and his brother's heads, squeezing his eyes shut as he allowed himself to be overrun with sobs, at the same time as letting the comfort that having both of them there caused course through him. Without enough energy to actually return their hugs, he settled simply for weakly gripping the front of both their shirts in his hands, as though he wanted to make sure that they wouldn't change their minds and leave him after all. If he could've seen the look that his two family members exchanged over his head, he would have known that that was one thing that was never going to happen.

* * *

_TBC_


	11. Saturday: The Sixth Day, 6:51 AM

**A/N:** well, this is certainly faster than my last update :D anyways, it's pretty late right now, so i'll cut to the chase: i took special care to finish this chapter by the end of this week, in honour of my 16th birthday, which was this past tuesday :) i had originally tried to finish it for that day specifically, but hey, nobody's perfect, right:P at any rate, enjoy the new chappy, and as always, don't forget to R & R!

**Warning:** again, the chapter is a long one, so brace yourself, and make sure you sitting in a comfy seat before you start **  
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* * *

**Chapter 11 - Saturday, The Sixth Day (6:51 A.M)**

Twenty-five minutes and forty-two seconds - after glancing at Don's wristwatch when he'd woken up to find his big brother sleeping beside his bed, that was what Charlie's internal clock counted up to in the time from when twilight first started to fade to now, when the vibrant colors of the sunrise were beginning to fade as well into the pale blue of the morning sky. Just last week, he might have spent that time either asleep or working diligently at whatever problem or equation had snuck into his brain during his few hours of sleep, but now he found himself without the means or desire to do either one. Instead, he spent those twenty-five minutes and forty-two seconds staring out of his dingy hospital room window, vaguely grateful that he'd been given pajama bottoms as well, instead of just the unfairly drafty hospital gown as he stood in front of the glass, leaning heavily on the I.V pole he was still hooked up to.

It had been a long night, to say the least; the emotional stress from the nightmare combined with the break-down that followed had caused his fever to spike to 104 degrees, and though the doctor was thankfully able to remove the I.V's providing blood and electrolytes by 9:00 P.M, those containing the nutrients and the anti-bodies had been left in for the night with hopes that they would have worked their magic by morning, thereby finally allowing Don and their dad to take him back home...

Charlie couldn't help the shudder that ran through him at the mere thought of returning to the place where it had all happened, and though he tried his hardest to convince himself that his house was still his house, was still the same place that it had been the previous day before those men had arrived, he still found himself dreading having to return there for the fact of the matter was that it _wasn't_ the same as it had been before - before, it had felt safe; before, it had always held a sense of security and comfort in it. Now... now all he could see it as was the scene of the crime... _his_ crime - he had _killed_ a man in that house, in his own bedroom no less. He shuddered again, harder this time, so much that it made the metal parts of his I.V stand rattle against themselves sharply.

His previously acquired energy was already waning and he gripped the stand tighter, leaning even more heavily against it as he continued to stare at the cloudless blue sky, thinking morosely to himself how unfair it was that it should be such a beautiful day outside while he himself felt as though a few cinderblocks had taken up residence on his shoulders, causing them to slump despite the I.V lines and the sling cradling his right arm. _You know things are getting to you when it feels like any nice weather is simply mocking you and your situation_.

When Don was suddenly pulled awake where he sat slumped in his chair beside Charlie's bed, he wasn't able to identify what sound had done the deed, and where it had come from right away, his foggy, sleep-clogged senses taking a moment to clear even as he glanced down at his watch and saw that it was only seven in the morning. After they had, the first thing that caught Don's attention was the fact that he was now sitting next to an empty bed, his brother and the I.V stand he was tethered to both missing from their designated spots. The second demanded his attention at the same time as his mind was able to place the sound - rattling metal - and his head turned slightly, his gaze resting on Charlie who was standing in front of the window, leaning much to heavily on his I.V stand and looking like he was just about ready to collapse.

Despite the stiffness and aches that came with spending the night in a chair - both Don and Alan having refused to leave Charlie alone at the hospital - Don stood and moved quickly over to Charlie's side, carefully supporting him with one hand on his left shoulder, the other on his elbow just above the brace. With the immediate danger of falling addressed, Don finally was able to look to Charlie's face, feeling his heart sink just a little bit more when he noticed the tears welling in his little brother's eyes._ How long will it be before he can get past this? Will he ever?_

"Did Dad go home?" The whispered question startled Don from his thoughts, but he hid it well as he shook his head.

"No - he's still asleep on a couch in one of the lounges down the hall," he said, his tone one of forced casualness. "When your fever went up, we managed to talk the night-time staff into letting us stay so we could take turns staying with you and catching a few z's; Dad's shift ended an hour ago."

Charlie nodded silently to indicate that he'd understood the arrangement, at the same time as he listed to the side, despite Don's supporting hands. Tightening his grip on Charlie's arm, Don carefully steered him back towards the bed.

"Here - let's get you lying down again, get your strength back so that you can get outta here and go home when Dr. Truman comes to see you in a few hours." Once their combined efforts had gotten Charlie lying back down, the thin sheet pulled back up to his waist, Don gently placed the back of his hand against Charlie's forehead, smiling in relief as he did. "Feels like you're back down to a normal temperature too - almost as good as new Chuck." Having expected, hoped for the usual, bantering reaction to the nickname, Don's smile faded when no such reaction took place, Charlie's teary gaze remaining fixed on the window, his expression otherwise blank. Clearing his throat, Don tried to make conversation, anything to break this unsettling silence. "So I sent David to go and pick up some clothes for you from the house - he dropped off one of your T-shirts, some socks, shoes, and a pair of your jeans about an hour ago along with coffee for us, and some sandwiches for you, if you're interested."

"No thank you, I'm not hungry." Don found that a little hard to believe considering the only food Charlie had had since breakfast the previous day had been either gelatin or given intravenously, but managed to cut down his disapproval to a small sigh instead of open disagreement, after which he smirked a little.

"I'd shake my head at you, but I won't be able to do that until this afternoon. Rain check?" The statement was enough to draw Charlie's attention away from the window, and he blinked when his eyes fell on the brace covering his brother's neck as though only then noticing it was there. His brow furrowed, his eyes filled now with concern rather than unshed tears as he reached his injured left hand over, barely touching the C-collar with his fingertips.

"What happened?"

"A small incident yesterday morning. It's nothing serious though - like I said, the brace is coming off this afternoon." Charlie wasn't buying the supposed simplicity behind it, and his gaze became stern, demanding the truth.

"What happened Don?" Don shifted uneasily in his chair, really wishing that someone would walk into the room right then and distract Charlie from getting the answer that would surely upset him even more than he'd been before. "Don?" He sighed again, knowing that he wasn't going to get out of this one. _Can't blame a guy for hoping_. He cleared his throat nervously as he worked out the softest way to phrase it.

"I... had a little run-in with the same guy that... showed up... at the house," he said haltingly, glancing briefly at the door in one last ditch effort to will someone to walk through it to interrupt him. No such luck.

Another sigh.

"He was waiting for me at my apartment... he got the upper hand, for a while, but I'll say it again: _it's nothing serious_, I'll be fine." Don could tell by the sudden increased pallor of Charlie's features that it didn't matter whether or not it was serious - it was yet another notch on their belt of close calls, a belt that they were rapidly running out of room for more on before they'd reach the end of the metaphorical line, and there was only one way it could go from there...

A nurse chose that moment to enter, bustling in and checking Charlie's vitals and temperature, and fluffing his pillows in a flurry of movements that left both brothers disoriented long after she'd left again, and though her presence had certainly ended their previous conversation, it had also left them in a thick, heavy silence, one that wasn't even broken by the beep of the heart-monitor as it had been removed early that morning, having no longer been required. For a while Don wasn't sure which bothered him most: uncomfortable, anxious silence, or uncomfortable, anxious conversation. When Charlie shuddered openly, half curling up on his left side and remaining silent as he stared blankly at the opposite wall, Don decided quickly that he'd rather they were talking. He didn't care what they were talking about, or however forced the conversation would be; _anything_ to put some of the color back in Charlie's face, and maybe, by some wild chance, get him to smile a little.

"So Amita and Larry stopped by yesterday while you were asleep for the day," he blurted suddenly, his mind having finally settled on something that would not make either of them think directly about what had transpired the previous morning. His statement drew Charlie's gaze, which morphed blessedly from blank to curious.

"Oh? And how were they?" he asked, inwardly singing praises to his brother for trying to distract him, for it was already starting to work at least a little.

"Well, they were obviously pretty worried about you; Amita held your hand the entire time she was here, and Larry hardly said anything at all, which is a miracle in itself." Don could not express the relief he felt when a grin lit up Charlie's face.

"I'll agree with you there: the man was a born scientist, theologist, and lecturer - sometimes, I don't think he can even help himself." Returning the grin, Don scooted forward a bit with his chair, an action made difficult by the fact that the neck brace along with his newly re-set ribs made leaning forward far enough a distant hope.

"At least he actually makes sense... _most _of the time, anyways." This drew a quiet chuckle from the professor, the sound music to Don's ears. He actually couldn't remember the last time Charlie had really, truly laughed; it wouldn't matter if he had done so just yesterday - with all that had happened, the furthest back Don's mind would go was when he had woken up and had unfortunately made the decision to leave the house to conduct an off-duty interview.

Managing to suppress a wince at the emotions that such thoughts brought back to the surface, Don glanced over at Charlie just in time to see him fail at hiding just such a reaction, and he wasn't about to let it slide either, not now.

"Are you in pain or something? 'Cause you could ask for more of those oral painkillers - might as well take advantage of having medical insurance," he joked mildly, watching his brother's face carefully. Charlie just shook his head, all traces of the wonderful grin gone.

"That won't be necessary Don - I'm fine."

"I seriously doubt that." Both men knew that Don wasn't just talking about the physical ramifications of his close encounter with a bullet, but Charlie said not a word in response as he let his gaze slide down to the sheet that was covering him, and Don could practically see the walls building up around his brother right before his eyes. Don couldn't help but sigh again - something he seemed to be doing quite a bit of lately - and sat back in his chair, wondering again how long and how much prodding it would take before Charlie would be able to deal with what he'd done, and move on past it. _The world won't wait for ya Buddy, and it won't do you any good to get left behind_.

For the longest time they sat that way, no words being exchanged, until eventually Charlie nodded off again, leaving Don to take up the torch for window gazing, hardly moving a muscle as he stared through the glass at what was so far a beautiful day. He just barely heard it when the door to the room opened behind him, spurring him to turn in his seat to greet the new-comer who turned out to be their father, his weathered face creased in a gentle smile.

"Still sleeping?" he asked quietly as he came to stand beside Don's chair. Instinctively, Don reached up with his hand to rub the back of his neck and ease the tenseness that had become a constant companion, his fingers drawing back when they came in contact with the plexi-glass. _Can't believe I gotta wear the damn thing until the afternoon - "playing it safe" is hardly worth the aggravation_.

"Not really 'still' - he was awake before I was at maybe six-thirty, went back to sleep around..." Don glanced once more down at his watch, eyebrows raising in surprise when he saw that it was already 8:00 A.M. "...half an hour ago... I think." Nodding, Alan pulled up the other chair to sit beside his eldest, joining him in gazing at the pinched expression Charlie's face held in sleep for a few minutes before speaking again.

"I met up with Dr. Truman at the nurses' station on my way over - he said that he would be coming in here in just a minute to give Charlie his morning check-up." Before Don could even think about saying something in return, the door was opened again and Dr. Truman came gliding in, moving immediately over to Charlie whom Don gently shook awake, almost laughing a little at the disoriented and unhappy look that Charlie gave the doctor while he checked his pulse and peeled back the gauze on his shoulder to get a look at the stitches under it. After a moment of scribbling notes across the sheet on his clipboard, Dr. Truman straitened and offered a positive smile.

"Well Mr. Eppes, I won't go as far as to say that you're back to one-hundred percent, or even close, but I can definitely assure you that you are certainly mending, which is something you can just as easily do in the comfort of your own home rather than being stuck in here." Alan frowned as he watched the doctor retrieve two small cotton-balls and bandages, after which he proceeded to carefully remove the two remaining I.V needles, securing a piece of cotton over each left-over pin-hole.

"Already? That 'low grade fever' of his was ranking in the higher hundreds just last night. Is he really alright to be released right away?" Observing the hand Alan had placed on Charlie's shoulder and the stiff, protective posture Don held himself in at his side, Dr. Truman smirked a little, an action that did nothing to endear him to either man sitting in front of him, though the one in the bed seemed indifferent.

"I assure you, Mr. Eppes," he said, addressing Alan now. "His fever is all but gone - those anti-bodies did the trick. All he needs now is plenty of rest and nutrition, which I'll say again is something that I am sure he will be able to get in the comfort of his own home." Not allowing for further arguments, the doctor quickly scrawled his signature onto the chart and made for the door. "I will return shortly with your release papers, after which you are free to go." And with that he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Shaking their heads a little at the man's curt demeanor, and wondering why exactly Dr. Keany had spoken so highly of him during a visit he'd paid the previous night, Don and Alan finally turned back to look at Charlie, a little surprised to see that he hadn't moved an inch from the sitting position he'd been put in during Dr. Truman's examination. The way he was slumping and seeming to be sinking back down into the bed, it almost seemed as though he were reluctant to leave at all. His hand still on Charlie's shoulder, Alan gave a small squeeze as he ducked his head a little, trying to catch his son's eyes from where they were focused wholly on his bed-sheets.

"Charlie? Son? Did you hear what your doctor said?" Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded, but still made no move to get out of the bed. Don found himself frowning, his expression similar to what Alan's had been only a moment earlier as he moved around to the other side, reaching out towards him with a tentative hand.

"Here Buddy, I'll help you stand and if you want, I could step out into the hall while Dad helps you get dressed." After another second's hesitation, Charlie pulled back the sheet and slowly swung his legs out over the edge, letting them dangle there briefly before scooting around the offered hand and slowly getting to his feet. Whether he did not notice the confusion and concern on his father's and brother's faces or simply chose to ignore them wasn't entirely clear as he shuffled barefoot across the cold floor, pausing outside the bathroom's entrance to scoop up the clothes David had brought before continuing on into the small space. After he'd dropped his clothes onto the counter-top, he turned and placed his hand on the door, his eyes focused on the ground in front of him rather than on the faces of his family members.

"I'll just be a minute," he mumbled, barely loud enough for them both to hear as he gently closed the door and locked it, effectively shutting them out both physically and figuratively.

* * *

**8:30 A.M**

As it turned out, that "minute" had stretched into close to ten, Don's nervousness at how long it was taking him almost leading to him picking the lock in order to get in there and be sure he hadn't fallen and hit his head, or maybe passed out... lately, _anything_ was possible, and Don felt no desire to take any more chances. By the time Charlie finally did emerge, he had been even more unsteady on his feet than he'd been on the way in, his face pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, legs visibly shaking a little at the effort it took to remain vertical.

After all the appropriate forms had been filled out, a wheelchair had been sent for and Charlie had gratefully accepted the ride, having been sincerely worried that had he been walking out, he would have collapsed before he'd made it out the front doors. On the way down to the main floor and all the way to the car, Alan had made a commendable effort to keep the small talk going, bringing up everything from the weather to the latest addition to his garden, hoping to keep Charlie talking and otherwise distracted from what he knew he would be thinking about, but to little avail. For every new topic brought up, he would offer a tiny smile that never really seemed to reach his eyes and would pretty much only speak when spoken to, and even then his answers would usually be limited to only one or two words, as though he simply didn't have the energy to say any more than that.

Needless to say, his behavior had his two family members more than a little nervous, that nervousness not helped at all when his responses became even less frequent during the car ride back from the hospital, then stopped being offered all together by the time they were two blocks from the house. When at last they pulled into the driveway, Alan parking the car as close to the door as he could to limit the distance Charlie needed to walk, both Don and Alan unbuckled their seatbelts, both of them out of the car and closing their doors before they noticed that the young man in the back seat was giving no indication that he had any intention of exiting the vehicle. He didn't even respond when they said his name, just sat where he was, face like stone, staring unblinkingly at his house through the windshield like he was a man on death row staring at what was to be his execution chamber.

Exchanging a worried glance with their father, Don opened the right-hand back-seat door and dropped slowly down to a crouch beside Charlie's seat, careful to keep his back straight to keep the pressure off his ribs while he placed both hands on the edge of the seat to keep himself balanced. He could feel Alan hovering worriedly behind him and tried to shut out the father hen sonar-pinging that he swore he could actually hear, focusing his attention solely on his younger brother who still hadn't looked away from the house, his expression remaining the same: a raw combination of fear, dread, and guardedness, all of which sent another stab of guilt through Don's gut, another thing he tried to ignore for the time being. _Not the time for this Eppes - sure, feel guilty about the things you let happen, but do it _later_; right now, your baby brother needs you to be there for him. Now, _talk_... come on, it's not that hard... _Damn it_, say something! ... What happened to the smooth talker, the guy that had something smart and insightful to say about almost anything? ... Jeez - pull your foot outta your mouth, un-tie your tongue, and get moving! ... Okay, how about you start with something simple, easy: start with his _name_... Okay, on the count of three: one... two... thr -_

"Charlie." His voice came out low and scratchy, his tongue feeling awkward and sluggish. He cleared his throat in an effort to sound a little more like his old self, the guy that with anyone else would have no problem with a conversation like this one - only this wasn't just 'anyone else', this was Charlie... and having a conversation about assaults, justifiable killings and being targeted by serial murderers with Charlie wasn't something he'd ever prepared himself for, hadn't even considered the possibility of it being necessary. _Well, that's what you get for not expecting the unexpected I guess - you get blind-sided_.

"Charlie," he started again, his voice satisfactorily clearer. "It's okay now - Megan personally made sure everything was cleaned up and taken care of... I think your room is actually the cleanest it's been since the day you left for Princeton with Mom." His joke went unacknowledged; not even a glimmer of a smile was seen in the expression that Don wanted so desperately to wipe clear. His mind made a unanimous vote then to keep this talk short and simple, to save the 'you had no choice, you had to do it and we're glad it was him instead of you' bit for later on, when there was at least a small chance that Charlie would actually believe him, even a little. Moving closer, Don continued. "We'll go inside whenever you're ready Buddy," he whispered, placing a gentle hand on Charlie's knee. "Take your time - we're not going to rush you."

"You're brother's right - take as much time as you need to... we're here for you son," Alan said softly, squeezing in beside Don so that he could rest a comforting hand on the back of Charlie's neck. In his head, he was all but pleading with his youngest to listen to them, to understand that he wasn't alone in this one, that he still had his family to turn to. After all, if you couldn't count on your family to be there for you, who _could_ you count on?

The two of them couldn't help the relieved smiles that flitted across their faces when after almost five more minutes of that unnerving, silent staring, Charlie finally looked away from the house. Granted, he didn't look at either of them, choosing his feet instead, but what was more important was that he nodded slightly and then slowly swung his legs out of the car. This time he did not bypass the hand that was offered to him by his older brother and, though it was awkward gripping the helping hand what with the brace on his left hand and his right arm still in the sling, he had to admit that it did make standing considerably easier, for which he was grateful.

The walk to the front door was slow, the other two men careful to stop whenever Charlie stumbled a little, his energy still not having returned to its fullest despite having spent an entire afternoon and most of an evening sleeping. It was a long moment before they'd actually reached the door and unlocked it, stepping in and closing it and locking both locks behind them, the effect that the previous day's attack evident in the precautions they were taking. While Alan riffled through the mail that he'd grabbed on the way in, Don and Charlie continued on to the living room, their combined efforts allowing Charlie to lower himself down onto the couch where he curled his legs up underneath him, tilting his head back against the cushions, letting out a quiet whoosh of air as he closed his eyes for a briefly, only to reopen them a second later to stare blearily up at the ceiling. After a long moment of heavy silence, Don finally spoke again.

"You want me to get you something? Maybe some water, or tea, or something to eat?" _Food would be a good idea - last thing you want is to end up in a hospital bed again with a needle rammed into your hand. For that matter, it's the last thing me and Dad want too, _he thought, but kept the words and the worry to himself, waiting for an answer and hoping he'd take him up on at least two of the three options. His hopes went out the window when Charlie slowly shook his head.

"No thank you Don; I'm pretty tired. I think... I'm just gonna sleep here... for a while." Even as he was practically whispering, his eyelids were drooping, his body sliding to his right. Grabbing hold of his left arm, Don halted his descent, redirecting him to lay on his left side instead so as to avoid putting pressure on his healing shoulder. Already half-asleep, Charlie muttered a small 'thanks' to which Don smiled, pulling the afghan off the arm-rest to cover the mathematician who was asleep and breathing deeply by the time he had finished wrapping it around his curled-up form and pushing a pillow under his head. Satisfied that he was as comfortable as possible, Don wandered out of the room and into the kitchen where Alan was already at work preparing what looked to be scrambled eggs and coffee. At the sound of his entrance, his father looked up from the pan he was working over.

"How is he?" Though he could hear all the different levels to the question, Don's weariness prompted him to aim for the more simple answer, deciding that any further diagnosis by him on his brother's emotional health would have to be done once he'd either gotten some sleep, or had been given a serious caffeine boost. Sitting gingerly on one of the stools next to the counter, he took a moment to compose himself.

"He's pretty sore and apparently still exhausted; fell asleep pretty much as soon as I got him settled in." His response earned him a pointed look.

"You know that wasn't what I was referring to," Alan said, turning back to his eggs. Don sighed, once more wishing desperately that he could have access to the muscles at the back of his neck which were practically throbbing with how tense they had become since yesterday morning._  
_

"I don't know what to tell you Dad," he said honestly, shifting to try and get comfortable on the seat while still keeping his back straight. _If nothing else but painful, broken ribs have got to be the most irritating injury a guy could have - aside from this neck thing that is_. "He's obviously having a hard time dealing with it - it's making it worse that it all happened right here, so everywhere he looks, he's gonna be reminded of what was done to him, of... of what he had to do." He shook his head slightly. "I'm actually pretty impressed that he was able to convince himself to come inside that fast." Alan smiled a little.

"I think sometimes that brother of yours is a little more resilient than we give him credit for." Don returned the smile.

"You know... I think you're right."

"Of course I am," he said brightly as he dished out the eggs onto three plates, saran-wrapping the third before setting the other two down on the counter and pulling up another stool. "It's my right as a father." The only response to his claim was a soft snort before they both dug into their respective portions, relishing the first taste of non-hospital food they'd had in the past twenty-four hours.

All too soon, their plates were bare, their cups drained of their coffee, and Don stood from his stool, groaning at the popping sounds that came from his back as he brought his dishes to the sink, after which he pulled his cell phone off the clip in his belt and hit a number for speed-dial. Only one ring went through before the person he'd called picked up on the other line.

"Reeves." The rapid sounds of typing reached his ears, and he guessed that she was probably finishing up the lengthy report that would have come from yesterday's activities, what with several crime scene's, hardly a few hours apart, and several bodies to go with them.

"Megan, it's Don." The typing stopped abruptly.

"How's everything going with you guys? How's Charlie doing?" Her genuine concern rang through, and he made sure that his appreciation could be heard as well.

"We're okay - Charlie's out for the count on the couch."

"I'm guessing it'll be a little while before he'll want to sleep in his room." Don winced despite himself at the memory of what they had found in Charlie's room, as well as what they had also found in the attic space above it...

"Yeah, that sounds about right." He decided quickly that a change of subject was in order. They did after all still have a case to solve, and the faster that they solved it, the sooner him and his family would be freed from their places on the hit list and be able to breathe easy. "Any more leads off yesterday morning's crime scene at the Bradley's house?" The typing started up again, though this time at a slower pace, probably so that she could not only work on the report, but concentrate on talking as well.

"No, nothing that we didn't get from all the other scenes - a few black fibers that probably belong to whatever non-descript black clothing our perps were wearing, and a whole lot of nothing outside of that." Don chewed on his lower lip for a moment, mulling over what little they had.

"I don't suppose we got another nine-one-one call?" There was a long pause before she answered, its length making Don frown.

"Not from our suspects, no." Something tugged at his heart, and Don's eyes closed.

"You have Charlie's call, don't you." It was more of a statement than anything, and he could almost picture Megan's solemn expression by the tone of her voice.

"Yeah, we do." Don's unoccupied hand clenched into a fist at his side as he fought to keep his voice unwavering.

"Did you pull anything useful off it?"

"No, nothing so far, but I'll be getting back to work on it in a little while, see if I can't find something the techs might have missed this morning before they handed it off to me," she responded, her tone cautious. Don forced the hand that was gripping the phone to relax a little so as to avoid breaking it. _Time for another subject change before you loose it Eppes_.

"Have David and Colby found out how that guy's wife and daughter were killed yet?" Recognizing the new question for what it was - an attempt to keep it together, to recover the feeling of still being minorly in control of a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control - Megan decided to humor him with a report, if for no other reason than he was still the SAC on this case... or at least, he would be when he was allowed to return to the office.

"Not yet - I sent them home early yesterday night, and they've been working on it since they got back this morning, but the file seems to be closed because of his military status, and our guys keep getting shuffled around, their calls transferred almost hourly... it could take a little while to pull some real answers from someone." Don had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing out loud at the serious lack of progress they were making with this thing, deciding in the end to settle for what little he had gained in this phone call and let Megan get back to work.

"Right, well I won't keep you any longer. Just call me the second they find something. Got it?"

"I'll do that Don. In the meantime, you should rest-up so you can get around to feeling better."

"I'll give it a shot." Obviously not up for verbally forcing him to agree to get some sleep, she moved right along.

"Good. Anything else?" Thinking about it a moment, he nodded, ignoring the fact that she couldn't see him.

"Yeah: I don't care what you have to say to get it, but I want a security detail assigned to my family starting today. When's the soonest you can get one down here?"

--

Don had to admit that he was pretty impressed when merely half-an-hour later, at ten sharp, two unmarked government cars rolled up in front of the house, four agents that he recognized from working on his team's floor exiting the vehicles and walking steadily up the drive to meet him where he'd come out to stand outside the front door. Once they'd introduced themselves at Agents Randall, Powel, Wyatt, and York, Randall and Powel - who he swore looked enough alike to be brother and sister - informed him that they were going to be working perimeter, leaving almost immediately to do just that while Wyatt and York followed Don back inside, allowing him to lead them into the dinning room. Motioning them to grab a seat, he did the same at the head of the table, regarding them both with a scrutinizing eye.

"Since you are here, I'm going to assume that you've been briefed about the situation?" The both of them nodded brusquely, Wyatt leaning forward in his chair.

"Special Agent Reeves filled us in on our way out of the building, but it was hardly necessary - we all heard about what happened to you and your family when we were coming back from a stake-out yesterday morning; our entire floor was fuming... for lack of a better way to say it, we're all royally pissed about the move those bastards pulled," he said solemnly. York nodded again, his expression and tone matching his partner's.

"Definitely - by the time the whole story came out, almost half of everybody there either left to go for a round at the shooting range, or the punching bags... let's just say that the four of us had to elbow our way to the front of the crowd of volunteers to get picked when Reeves announced the need for a security detail on the three of you." A grim smile pulled at the corners of Don's mouth.

"Well, I'll say thank you in advance," he said, standing from his seat. "And you might as well come into the kitchen to meet my father, 'cause you can guarantee that as long as you're here, you'll be getting hourly offers for coffee breaks, along with free meals from him, home-cooked style." Two sets of eyebrows shot up and the agents exchanged a brief glance before both of them stood and followed after Don, eager grins on their faces, York pitching in a comment.

"Too bad every detail we get assigned to couldn't be like this one."

* * *

**1:00 P.M**

The first thing he was aware of was how cold he was, which was no surprise - he hadn't been able to get warm pretty much since the week had started, so he didn't expect that it'd be any different now. He shivered, curling up a little tighter on whatever cushioned surface he was on, and shifted a little to free his left hand so that he could use it to pull whatever was covering him a little closer. It didn't help with the cold much, but its closeness was oddly comforting, feeling a little bit like a perpetual hug. _It really is too bad that we're not much of a hugging family; I love hugs, and hardly anyone seems to want to give them to me any more... _

His thoughts were cut off by the second thing he became aware of: voices, coming from one room over and getting closer. Even though they were reasonably low, Charlie had no trouble telling that they didn't belong to either his father or his older brother. Still half-asleep, and already having been through several life-threatening experiences in the past few days, Charlie drew an immediate conclusion: whoever it was that had driven away after he'd killed that first man must've come back to finish the job, and had somehow gained access to the house without alerting Don and his dad, wherever they were in the house. That's when he came up with a second, even more terrifying thought: the intruders had already killed them both, and were coming for him next.

He hadn't even opened his eyes yet and his mind was already working up into full-blown panic mode, sweat beginning to bead on his brow, his breathing speeding up while he struggled to keep it quiet, all of his muscles becoming bowstring-tight as he listened to the voices come closer, the quiet thumping of footsteps now apparent. Then all of a sudden everything went quiet, and for a moment Charlie had the ridiculous notion that maybe they hadn't seen him curled up there on the couch, and the footsteps he'd heard had actually been directed towards the door, meaning they had in fact left. His rising hopes were dashed however when the footsteps carried on all the way into the living room, stopping right beside his couch, the voices returning then as well, both in whispers. For a long moment, nothing happened, they just seemed to stand there talking.

_Maybe this is just a dream_, Charlie thought. _If this were real, and these men really were the serial murderers, I'd be dead by now, wouldn't I?_

The sound that wiped out that thought was the unmistakable click that rang out behind the couch, one that he recognized immediately with a cold dread: the sound of a gun's clip being pushed back into place.

Unable to take not seeing what was happening any longer, and afraid for whatever it was to happen while he was curled up like that, Charlie snapped his eyes open and sat up all at once, quickly looking up to see two suit-clad men that he didn't know, both staring down at him, looking surprised. A handgun was clutched in the hand of the one closest to him, a gun that looked undeniably similar to the one that had been in the hand of the now deceased murderer. His breath hitched and he was suddenly attacked by the desperate need to put distance between himself and his newest threat, the survival instinct leading him to scramble sideways off the couch, eyes never leaving the apparently startled pair as he stumbled backwards until his back made painful contact with the wall, causing every injury he possessed to throb at once, the result being that he sagged a little. He refused to allow his legs to buckle however, and so continued his stare down with the strangers, his breathing having yet to slow down. He was just beginning to feel a little light headed when the one holding the gun seemed to overcome his surprise enough to follow where Charlie's eyes were starring at his gun. Much to Charlie's confusion, a look of embarrassment crossed over the man's features and in a move that left Charlie dumfounded, the man quickly holstered the weapon at the same time as he called out over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Charlie's face.

"Hey Don! I think you better come in here for a sec!" His words seemed to bring everything to a halt - except his rapid breaths - and things only started up again when Don immediately came racing into the room, looking quickly from the two men to the empty couch, his brow furrowing until he followed the men's gazes up to where Charlie was standing backed up against the wall, his face registering confusion, shock, and the leftovers of fear. Damn - he should've known better than to not let his brother know about the new-comers, thereby opening him up to get the crap scared out of him when he finally did wake up; if appearances were anything to go by, it certainly seemed as though that is what had happened.

He quickly strode over to stand beside the young man, relieved to hear Charlie's breathing begin to slow down a little as he grabbed hold of his left arm, once more needing to steady him. The contact seemed to bring him back the rest of the way from his shock and he sagged even further against the wall, slowly sliding down - despite Don's attempt at support - until he was sitting on the floor. For a second he merely stared over at the two men who now looked thoroughly concerned, then he squeezed his eyes shut, resting his head in the hard palm of the brace of his left hand.

"_Jesus_..." he breathed, trying somewhat futily to force his body to calm down. He drew in another shuddering breath, let it out... still didn't feel any better. "_Jesus_..."

Kneeling down beside him, it took all of Don's willpower not to take out some of the tension his concern instilled on the two men that were responsible for the scare, wanting very much to berate them at least a little for inducing a near-heart attack in his little brother, but he knew it wasn't their fault - and the man who the blame for his brother's condition really landed on was already dead. Instead, he carefully wrapped one arm around Charlie's back, the other across his chest, and helped him to stand again, increasingly glad that he'd been able to remove his neck-brace earlier - having worn it for a full twenty-four hours as ordered - otherwise, there'd be no way he'd be able to do this, at least not without a fair amount of struggling on his part. It was impossible not to feel Charlie's racing heartbeat against his arm and for a brief moment Don was worried that he really _was_ going to have a heart attack, the moment passing after he'd gently rushed his brother over to sit on the couch.

Don hadn't even noticed that Wyatt had left the room, but suddenly he was returning bearing a tall glass of water which Don accepted with a grateful nod before bringing it carefully to his brother's lips, slowly tipping it to allow him to swallow a few gulps, after which he deposited it on the coffee table and sat on Charlie's left side. He watched him carefully for a long moment, waiting impatiently for him to open his eyes again and to be able to say something apart from 'Jesus' so that he could breathe easy himself. He wasn't sure when their father had come in (probably had returned with Wyatt who had probably told him what had happened), but suddenly he was sitting on Charlie's other side, rubbing the back of his neck and whispering soothingly, as only a father could do.

After what seemed like forever, Charlie was finally breathing normally again and had fallen silent, after which he at last opened his eyes again and glanced wearily over at Don, offering his older brother a weak half-smile.

"Next time, you wanna let me know ahead of time when you're inviting someone over?" Relieved laughter filled the room briefly, and when it had ended, both of the men he'd woken up to sheepishly stepped forward, the one who'd been holding the gun being the one to speak up first.

"Really, it's our fault Dr. Eppes - we shouldn't have been hovering like that, not after what you went through yesterday morning. Sorry." Charlie chuckled humorlessly.

"No need to apologize Agent..."

"Wyatt," he supplied. Charlie nodded.

"... Agent Wyatt - I'm plenty jumpy on my own, through no fault of yours, or your partner." The other man stepped forward then, offering forward his left hand instead of his right, to accommodate the fact that Charlie's right arm was still secured in its sling.

"Agent York," he said, and Charlie carefully shook his and then Agent Wyatt's hand, managing a smile.

"Nice to meet you both. And please, call me Charlie - only my students and my superiors call me Dr. Eppes." Don figured now was as good a time as any to step in and provide the missing information.

"These are two of the four agents that I asked Megan to send over for yours and Dad's security detail - they've been here for the past..." He snuck a glance at the clock on the wall which read one-fifteen."...three-and-a-bit hours, and will be staying here pretty much until this thing is over. They'll take shifts going home, but aside from that, they're with you two; the other two, Agents Randall and Powel, will be working the perimeter outside, so you won't be seeing much of them." Charlie frowned a little.

"What about you? Who's going to be watching your back when you head back to the office?"

"Well, I am still an F.B.I agent Charlie. And now that I'm back to feeling a little more up to par, I can take care of myself." Charlie's frown deepened.

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head; you could get caught by surprise if you're on your own." His voice became suddenly quiet. "Like yesterday at your apartment." Don looked at him with surprise, having briefly forgotten that he'd told Charlie the abreviated, undetailed version of what had happened, grateful now, by the expression on Charlie's face that he had decided not to go into detail at how close of a call it had been for him, and even for Meggan as well. Meeting Charlie's fearful gaze, he made a decision.

"Okay, how about this then: I won't leave the house unless I really have to, and when I do, I'll get Megan or one of the guys to come pick me up. Deal?" Charlie looked uncertain for a minute, as though wondering whether or not Don would actually keep his word, then finally smiled.

"Deal."

* * *

It was just passing six o'clock that night when the phone rang, breaking the silence for the first time since the extra agents had shown up earlier and making Charlie jerk awake from where he once again slept on the couch. He still felt no particular desire to return to his room, despite all assurances that it had been cleaned, all evidence of his... _mishap_ removed from the premises. He wondered idly when it would be that he'd actually be able to bring himself to sleep in there, how long it would take him to get past the haunted feel it held so that he could get a decent rest in his own bed. In the end he decided that, for the moment, the couch would do just fine, was actually the ideal place for him to take up temporary residence, being one of the only places that hadn't been part of the mess from the previous day. 

At any rate, right then his attention was more focused on what the call pertained to; he didn't bother asking who, for he could pretty much guess that by now, the only calls coming through on this phone would be from someone on Don's team, probably Megan as she seemed to have taken over the role of the switchboard as of late. His assumption was proved right when Don answered the phone and identified her, and he settled in to listen to this side of the conversation, hoping to hear that they'd found a new lead, or even better, that they'd caught the criminals. _The first one, okay, maybe. But the second one... yeah, right - dream on Charlie, it couldn't possibly be that easy._

"Hello?"

"Hey Don." He sighed into the phone, his relief at finally hearing from his team evident.

"What's up Megan? Anything new?"

"Actually, yes, this time there is." He could hear the smile in her voice, and smiled to himself because of it. It really was amazing how one person's good mood could brighten your own, even during times like these.

"Don't leave me hanging - let's hear it."

"Well, after being at a sort of stand-still all afternoon, one of our affiliates in the military that we tried to get information from on the deaths of Sergeant Baker's family finally called us back not too long ago, agreeing to fax us what we wanted to know."

"And?" He could hear papers being shuffled around, then the distinct swish of one being picked up.

"According to the military's records, Mrs. Baker and their daughter Julie were a few of the many casualties of one of the largest hostage situations in L.A's history. Apparently, there were only twenty survivors."

"Out of how many?"

"Two hundred." Don grimaced, his silence enough of an answer. "Yeah, that was my reaction too." Don shoved aside the instinctive horror at what had been done, and pressed on.

"So where and when did all this happen?" More paper shuffling.

"Um... looks like it took place around thirteen months ago at a mall named..." Shuffle. "... Murbarry Place." Don had started pacing while he'd waited for her answer, but now he stopped dead, his mind suddenly being tossed back to the previous morning, when he was standing in his apartment's living room, a gun in his face.

_'Like I said: they had no right to keep on living, not after Murbarry... not after how many died needlessly...'_ The dead murderer's voice rang in his ears, bouncing around in his memory until suddenly everything clicked into place, one of the most profound "Eureka!" moments in his career suddenly presenting itself, as clear as day.

"Shit..." he whispered, his tone akin to awe.

"What? What's wrong?" Megan asked, sounding equal parts concerned and confused. In the corner of his eye, he could see the faces of his brother, father, and both field agents turn to stare at him, all wanting to know what it was that had drawn such a reaction. He ignored them.

"It all makes sense... I can't believe I didn't see it before..."

"_What_ all makes sense?" Her slightly louder, more insistent voice brought him back to the present and he shook himself, starting to pace again.

"Murbarry, Megan - all of this ties into Murbarry."

"How?"

"The victims... they were all there."

"What are you talking about? Of course the hostages that died were all there - _that's where they died_." Don hardly even heard her, just kept on going.

"That's why all the cops... their families..." He stopped pacing again, struck by another jolt of insight. _Who says lightning doesn't strike the same place twice?_ "Megan... I know who's on the hit list." His comment not only drew a gasp of surprise from Megan, but also from the audience that was in the room with him so that he was surrounded by the sharp intakes of breath, the effect a little startling and spurring him to finally look up into the shocked faces of his family members and co-workers. He would have addressed them, but it was the agent on the other line that ultimately commanded his attention.

"Don... what are you talking about? Who's on the list? _And how in God's name do you know that_?" Don practically growled in frustration. _Here I am, cracking this damn case, and I can't even make myself understood_. Even as he spoke, he was slipping his feet back into his shoes which he had discarded next to the couch, reaching for the jacket that he had tossed onto the chair beside it.

"I'm coming in - I'll explain it all when I get there." He paused for a minute in his movements, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Megan, is my car still in the parking lot over there?" She was silent for a moment.

"Hm - yeah, it is. I actually think it's been there since the attack on Agent Quinn that you interrupted on Thursday." It was hard not to curse at the inconvenience, but somehow he managed.

"Okay, I'll borrow a car and I'll be there in half-an hour," he said, snatching the keys to Alan's car off the hook on the wall with an apologetic glance over at him. "Wherever David and Colby are, make sure they're in the war room by the time I get there." Realizing that arguing was pointless, and that it really would be easier to work through what Don had figured out if he were actually there with them, she sighed in resignation.

"Fine, but be careful."

"Always." Hanging up the phone, Don slipped into his jacket and made a beeline for the front door. All at once, several protesting voices arose behind him and even before he'd turned around he was being surrounded by the agents and his father, all three demanding to know what was going on, what he had figured out. Looking past them, he noticed Charlie standing unsteadily behind them, not saying a word but staring unwaveringly at Don. Practically at once, his interrogators noticed that he wasn't paying attention, and once they noticed where he was looking, they all turned to face Charlie who still hadn't looked away from his brother's face. Don was having a hard time identifying the emotions he saw swirling in Charlie's eyes, flitting across his features, so approached him cautiously.

"Charlie?"

"Do you _have_ to go?" he whispered, still not looking away though now he was forced to press his left hand up against the wall to support himself. Don nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I do." Charlie returned the nod.

"Okay then - go." Don blinked, narrowing his eyes slightly as he finally put a name to one of the things that shone on Charlie's face: firm, unabolished understanding, apparently to the point where it didn't matter how much he disagreed with what was happening - he'd let it happen if that is what was necessary. _When did you get so old Buddy? How did you get so serious? That's not how I remember you_... Don looked at him again, his expression a little sad; a lot of things had changed these past few months, and with them, Charlie had changed as well, having had no choice but to adapt to what was being thrown at him, to push aside that little bit more of the child-like happiness that had always been uniquely his, something that Don had always secretly hoped would remain, had always tried his hardest to protect... evidently in vain.

Another reason to hate the Jersey Cop Killers.

Setting his lips in a grim line, Don gave Charlie's uninjured shoulder a light squeeze before turning and heading once more for the door, promising the other three that he would call later and fill them in when he had the time, taking one last second to hug their father before walking out, closing the door behind him. For a long moment, the remaining men stared at the door before finally drifting away, one-by-one, until the only one remaining was Charlie.

"Be careful Donnie."

His words hung in the empty air, unheard by the one who needed them, and lost on the ears of those who were already thinking the same thing.

* * *

_TBC_


	12. Saturday: The Sixth Day, 6:40 PM

**A/N:** i suppose you're all wondering what in the world took me so long to update - well, i really don't want to go into details, but these past few months really have been some of the worst of my life - the sh!t hit the fan back in november, and, a dozen anxiety attacks-little to no sleep-writter's block up the wazoo-a cold-a flu and a few months later, i finally have a chapter to give you - i'm pretty sure it's my longest yet (around 17 pages), and i stuffed in plenty of angst, twists, and a good 'ol cliffie to make up for lost time. read and enjoy, and as always, don't forget to review - reviews really do cheer me up.

**A/N 2:** special thanks goes out to anonymous reviewer "Aly", who, whether they know it or not, inspired me with their reviews on the other chapters to work just that little bit harder to get this chapter finished - thanks Aly :)

**Warning:** to avoid confusion, it might be a good idea (if you have the time) to skim back through the previous chapters, to sorta get reaquainted with everything -- also, the unfortunate events detailed in this chapter may very well reflect my less than stellar mood - i'll appologize ahead of time ;)

* * *

**Chapter 12 - Saturday, The Sixth Day (6:40 P.M)**

By the time he pulled into the parking lot in front of the F.B.I building, Don was already worrying about what was going on at Charlie's house now that he'd left, and not for the first time during the half-hour drive into town did he wish that he could've stayed there with him, to protect him, to support him... as long as he was there, then he could start to make things right again, return everything to the balance they'd maintained before all this had started. However, he knew that in the end he really didn't have any other choice - if he didn't come in right away, if he decided to wait until Charlie was well enough to be where Don could keep an eye on him, more innocents would die... and that was something that he simply couldn't allow, not now that he knew exactly who it was that they needed to protect.

Once he'd parked, it was only a matter of minutes before he was striding through the main lobby, and hardly a minute more before the elevator doors opened and released him onto his team's floor. Without breaking stride, Don walked purposefully towards the war room, stopping only long enough to open the door and enter, closing it once more behind him. As he'd requested, all three of his fellow agents were inside, waiting at the table with their coffees, and all three looked up expectantly at his entrance, their expressions all but demanding the information he was about to give. He therefore wasted no time on pleasantries, and got straight to the point.

"I know who they're targeting, and why." Colby and David both nodded, David speaking up.

"Megan told us as much," he said. "She says that you told her it all had to do with the hostage situation at Murbarry Place thirteen months ago, but she didn't go so far as to say how." Opting to claim his usual seat at the head of the table, Don sat on its edge, facing the others as he prepared himself to summarize the incident that had instigated their present nightmare.

"It happened a day or two after you three were pulled out of town to do separate details," he began, his gaze dropping to the table's center. "I was temporarily reassigned to assist on a new team, and while we were out on a training-op, the call came in about the situation at Murbarry Place and we were told that all teams were needed, even the rookies. So we all head over and by the time we got there, the place was already swarming with LAPD, SWAT, FBI, the hostages' families, and whoever else had heard about it on the news... it was a mess. Two hundred people that had been at the mall for an indoor fair had been taken as hostages by a group of radicals... I never did get the full story behind who they were, and what they wanted. All we were told was that there was around a hundred of them, give or take, and that they were all armed with A-K47's and grenades." He shook his head despondently. "They were shooting a hostage every half-hour, then closer to the end, they cut that time down to every ten minutes... we ended up initiating a full-breach so that we could try and put a stop to it all before all we got back were two-hundred bodies."

He paused for a moment, swallowing hard as his mind brought back the images of gore that met their eyes when they went in, the near overwhelming feeling of sadness that had erupted in his chest when during the shoot-out he was forced to step over the bodies of teenagers, elderly couples, entire families - women and children whose only crime had simply been being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It had nearly been his undoing when he'd been trying to help take down the last of the gunmen and had had to temporarily ignore the cries of those who had been injured and were pleading with him to help them...

Needless to say, afterwards, he actually was glad for once for the mandatory psych evaluation and two-day leave; after what they'd seen in that mall, and hearing the report that some of the hostages had met their end due to 'friendly fire' during the attempted rescue, the last place he'd wanted to be was the office, and the last thing he wanted to even look at was his service piece.

He shook his head abruptly, visibly trying to bring himself out of the unwanted visit to a memory that all three of them could tell he still hadn't completely gotten over, not that they blamed him.

He subtly cleared his throat to get rid of the lump the images had put there, pushing on to the end of his account.

"The only problem with that was that there were so many hostage-takers, all of them armed to the teeth, that when each of our teams forced their way in through their own entrance and returned fire when they were shot at, a lot... there were a lot of the hostages that got caught in our cross-fire."

His eyes flicked up to the boards and the wall behind them that displayed the pictures of the law enforcement victims and he winced before looking away again.

"It's taken a little while, but I recognize a lot of the guys on that wall from the raiding party that day; I'm betting that if you were to check through each one of their files, you'd see that they were all there... and that is why they're being targeted now, always killed by gunshot wounds, and always at seven in the morning, the time that the whole hostage situation was estimated to have started at." Don looked back up at them in time to see comprehension dawn.

"They're being killed because of their failure to prevent the hostages' deaths, and their accidental involvement in the others'," Megan finished, brow furrowing at the thought of such unjust and unwarranted vengeance being sought out against men and women who had merely been trying to aid in resolving a horrible situation. Don nodded to confirm.

"And that brings us around to why these guys have been jumping states - they were going after the ones that chose to move away, or were transferred to another precinct or division... they were hunting them down, one-by-one." Grim silence met his words, the only sound being the surprisingly loud ticking of the clock on the wall until Colby finally spoke.

"So I guess it's safe to assume that like Baker, our remaining perps were in some way related to or closely associated with any of the hundred-and-eighty deceased hostages," he said, also gazing up at the gruesome pictures. "And we've already established that they have some sort of background in law enforcement and/or the military by their style of communication, and attack methods."

"What we _don't_ know however, is just how many of the victims' surviving family members are actually involved in the murders of the past few months." Don nodded at David's statement, and leaned forward to plant his hands on the table's surface.

"Okay, time to divide and conquer: Colby, David, you guys get to do a helluva lot of background checks - search through each hostage's family for anyone involved in law enforcement or the military, get their current address and contact information, start tracking them down. If you can't get a hold of them anywhere, there's your first clue." Both men nodded and left the room, heading immediately for their workstations. Don turned to Megan who sat waiting patiently for his instructions. "You and I get to go find out the name of every single cop and agent that was there that day, and start sending out warnings of the threat against them, maybe get them to move their families to safe locations until this whole thing is resolved," he said as he slowly stood and led the way back to their desks.

"I think the first one we should notify is Agent Quinn," she said, leaning against the wall of Don's cubicle as he sat down. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her suggestion, so she moved to explain. "Since you stopped them from killing her in the parking lot a few days ago, she could possibly be their next target - you know, backtracking to get the one that got away." He nodded brusquely.

"Make the call - and be sure to remind her that her immediate family is also in danger." Returning his nod, Megan stayed at his workspace long enough for Don to pull up the long list of agents and officers involved in the situation at Murbarry Place and to print out the first half for herself to begin tracking down and alerting to the fact that their lives and that of their kin were being threatened.

_This should make for a fun conversation_, he thought bitterly to himself as he dialed the number of the first officer on his half of the list, Officer Mike Harrington of the LAPD - husband, father of three... and about to have his world turned upside down.

_But at least they'll live - which is more than can be said for the late Bradley family_.

Don grit his teeth, forcing his mind away from thoughts about the patrolman's family that had been killed the day after his death, and just moments before Don would've been there himself. He knew that if he was going to be able to make these calls as fast as possible, he had to stay objective, had to keep focused on the calls' purpose, and the end result: that now, with his call, they actually had a chance of living.

"Hello?"

When the line suddenly picked up, the warm voice of a young woman coming through from the other end, Don was pulled from his thoughts back to the conversation he still needed to have with the potential next victims of the Jersey Cop Killers. He bit back a tired sigh and forced out the words that needed to be said.

"Hi; I'm Special Agent Don Eppes with the FBI - is this Mrs. Joan Harrington?"

"Yes... this is," she said, her tone a mixture of surprise and weariness. _Nobody likes a Fed... and cops' wives are no exception it seems_.

"I need to speak with your husband - is he home?"

"He is - can I ask what it is you'd like to speak to him about?" In his mind's eye, he could see the woman's hand going indignantly to her hip with her question, taking up both the defensive and offensive stature against his yet unknown intentions. It almost made Don feel relieved that he was talking with her over the phone instead of in person, within spitting distance.

At her question, he found his eyes wandering back over to the conference room's glass windows, through which he stared grimly at the pictures of the slain officers, the grimness of his adopted attitude reflecting itself in his voice.

"Mrs. Harrington... we have a situation..."

* * *

**Sunday - 6:50 A.M**

It took more effort than Don wanted to admit for him to be able to pry his eyes back open and sit up on the couch that had once again become a makeshift bed for him, on and off throughout the night as he took turns with the other three napping, usually in half an hour, to an hour intervals. When awake, each agent was hard at work with each of their appointed tasks, taking turns making fresh pots of coffee as they worked solidly through the late hours of the night into the early hours of the morning. Somewhere around midnight, Don had tried to tell his team to go home to get some real sleep and to come back the next morning, and their response had been to flat-out refuse to leave him at the office alone again, remembering all too well the attack that had been the result of the last time that they hadn't been around to watch his back - the last thing any of them wanted was a repeat performance.

Swinging his legs over so that his feet rested on the ground, his fingers fumbled to retrieve his wristwatch off the floor, finally snagging it and replacing it on his wrist before glancing at the time displayed on its face. He felt a wave of irritation move through him as he realized that he had been asleep for almost two and a half hours - he got the feeling that it was no accident that someone had 'forgotten' to wake him up an hour and a half ago like they were suppose to. Grumbling to himself, and planning on giving his subordinates an earful for letting him sleep when there was work to be done, he slowly pulled himself up to a standing position where he stretched carefully, only leaving the room when he was satisfied that he hadn't misaligned his ribs again, and that all the important joints had been stretched and popped to relieve any stiffness.

Even as he was walking towards his team's desks, he was rubbing his eyes with both hands to try and make himself more alert than he was (which was not at all), thanking the powers that be that his feet seemed to know the path around the cubicles well enough from memory to keep him from colliding head on with one, thereby giving him a terrible beginning to what was already promising to be a less than stellar day. He had already reached Megan's workspace before he was awake enough to realize that it was empty. A quick sweep of the area told him that the other two were gone as well, and it was a moment longer before his eyes wandered over to the break room where he could see all three of his agents slumped forward in their chairs, each nursing a much-too-small steaming cup of what could only be coffee while mirroring his previous actions of eye-rubbing. While his somewhat foggy observation skills mapped out just how exhausted they all appeared, he found his irritation subsiding, and mentally decided against his planned lecture.

_With how worn-down they look and probably are, for all I know they actually _did_ just accidentally forget to come get me._

Turning away from the pity-inducing scene, his gaze settled on Megan's desk, taking in the abnormal neatness of its surface before passing over the computer screen, the label _C. Eppes, 911 Call_ catching his rapt attention. After he'd taken a seat in the comfortable chair in front of him, he pulled up as close as he could so that he could lean on the desk's surface, almost physically bracing himself for what could be on that recording. Before the nervous voice of logic in the back of his head could convince him that he didn't need or want to listen to it, he was hitting the play button and turning up the volume on Megan's speakers a little so that he could hear it properly. It wasn't long before he was wishing that for once he'd just listened to the damn voice.

"_911, Emergency Response - Please state your emergency._" Don swore that the woman dispatcher on the recording was the _exact same _one that he had talked to at the beginning of the week, when he'd called in the shootings of Special Agent Trenton and his wife. _How's that for irony?_

There was an agonizingly long pause filled only with sporadic breaths from Charlie's end before his pained voice cued up.

"_... Help... help me..._" The knot in Don's chest that he'd thought had been smoothed out suddenly sprang back to life at the simple plea, the tone in which it was said being the same, terrible one that Don had heard in Charlie's voice when he'd found him bloody and shaking in the attic - now _there_ was an image he wouldn't be forgetting any time soon.

"_Sir, can you tell me your name?_"

"_Ch-Charlie._"

"_Okay Charlie, is someone hurt? Are you in danger?_"

"_I... I don't..._"

"_Stay with me now Charlie, I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?_"

"_Y-Yes._" Don silently thanked the unknown dispatcher for putting herself on a more personal level with him - knowing his brother, if the emergency dispatcher had remained impersonal, professional, then she probably wouldn't have gotten through to him with his mindset being where it was at the time.

"_Good, that's good Charlie. Now tell me, has someone been injured? Where?_"

"_... At home... he shot me... shot Donnie... I... I might've hurt him... I don't know... he hasn't moved... won't let me leave..._"

"_So the assailant is armed, and still on scene. Could you please give me the address of your home, Charlie?_"

"_It's... I..._" Obviously the dispatcher was experienced enough that she could tell for herself when someone was going into shock, and immediately moved to improvise.

"_Okay, here's what I want you to do: I want you to stay on the line so that I can trace the call and send help, so don't hang up, alright?_"

"_...k'ay..._" Almost a minute passed before the woman's voice returned.

"_Alright Charlie, we've got the address - I'm sending over the first available cruiser and an ambulance. Could you tell me exactly where in the house you are?_"

"_M'in the attic... he's in my room._"

"_That's good, Charlie - just stay hidden, and stay on the li-_"

A beep over the line drowned out the rest of what she was going to say, Charlie speaking when it had stopped.

"_Think m' phone's batteries are dying..._"

_BEEEEP._

The recording ended.

By this time, Don's head was in his hands and he had his eyes closed, working on willing away the images brought on both by his overactive imagination as well as the memories that were all too real. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there when he felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder, and he looked up into Megan's supportive gaze. He couldn't actually see Colby and David, but he knew they were there all the same - he could hear their breaths, the silence was that complete.

The first to break that silence was Don's cell phone, it's ringing seeming suddenly too shrill, and he quickly snatched it out of it's holder on his belt, flipping it open even before reading the caller I.D - he had a feeling he already knew who would be on the other end.

"Eppes."

"_It's me, Don_."

"Hi Dad - is everything okay?"

"_Yes, everything's fine, I was just calling to see how things are going with the case._" Don could tell by the restraint in his voice that he was fishing for the details about the previous night's supposed break-through, details that at the moment, he was simply too tired to give.

"It's going good Dad. We're actually getting somewhere," he said, cradling his head in his free hand. The sigh on the other end told him just how unimpressed his father was with the lack of information sharing going on, but he continued talking like he hadn't heard it. "So how's Charlie doing?"

"_A lot better, actually_," was the cheerful response, and Don could feel a weight being removed from his chest, allowing him to breathe a little easier. "_He actually got some real sleep yesterday - slept all the way through the night on the couch, as far as I know, and I was able to get a decent breakfast in him this morning_." Don frowned.

"What's he doing up so early? For that matter, what are _you_?" Another sigh found his ears, this time being a louder one tainted with worry.

"_Well, like I said, he slept through the night... but it was around half an hour ago that I got up to go to the washroom and saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking like he was trying to convince himself to come up - he didn't even notice me at the top. I don't know how long he'd been there before I found him, but after I did, he was there for almost another five minutes before he went to pace in the kitchen, and so I came downstairs to keep him company_."

Don's heart sank a little more, and half of the weight that he'd just gotten rid of decided to make a second appearance as he thought back to how apprehensive Charlie had been in even returning to his own house, not even being able to imagine how his brother would feel about returning to the room where _it_ had happened; it wouldn't matter how much it was cleaned, how many times the floor was scrubbed... Don didn't doubt that for Charlie, the blood that had been there would never truly be gone. Again he silently asked no one in particular just how long it would be before Charlie's act could become a thing of the past for him... and again, much to his chagrin, he got no answer.

"Just... let him know that he doesn't have to worry about working on his formulas for the victims any more; we've got the information we need to stop the murders - when he's feeling up to it, all he has to do is work towards maybe figuring out where the perps are." He could hear Alan breathe deep in relief.

"_That's great news, Donnie - I'll tell him_."

"You do that. I'll talk to you later, Dad." _I love you both - please, stay safe. _The mixed sentiment and plea went unvoiced by Don, who didn't want his father to see just how anxious he was at being even half an hour away from them both with the Cop Killers still out there, unaccounted for and unhindered in their actions.

"_Talk to you later Don... and please be careful, with whatever you end up doing._"

Before Don could remind him that his injuries had made it so that he was still technically chained to a desk for the next week or so, he'd hung up, leaving an empty dial tone to blare in his ear until he too returned the phone to its cradle, his now free hand joining the other in massaging the developing exhaustion headache from his temples. For a long moment he sat like that, feeling absolutely no desire to force his worn body back into action while at the same time knowing that he really had no other choice - calls needed to be made, warnings issued, killers identified and tracked down... the time for letting himself relax and sleep for a few days would come, but not today.

Looking up at last, he finally realized that his team was still standing there, regarding him with practically matching expressions of concern. Seeing this, he clenched his jaw and shoved his own emotions off of his face as he pushed himself back up to his feet, sidestepping Megan and striding back to his own desk. Not needing to be told, the other three followed his example, setting aside their emotional involvement, reserving it for another time and place as they jumped head-first back into their work, able only to hope that they were working fast enough.

* * *

**5:00 P.M**

Leaning towards the mirror for a closer look, Charlie couldn't help the grimace that came as a result of his careful prodding of his healing lip, wondering in the back of his mind if there was such a thing as needing stitches in your lip as he inspected the nasty looking split and the slight bruising around it. Seeing how it felt with just the smallest of touches made Charlie infinitely glad that he had decided against brushing his teeth after breakfast that morning, the mere idea of getting toothpaste on the wound drawing forth phantom stinging that almost brought tears to his eyes. Shaking his head to clear the non-existent sting, he left the main floor bathroom, heading in the direction of the living room. He gave a small smile as he entered, glad to see that the two FBI agents weren't in the room and sank carefully into the sofa, glad to have some time to himself, which was something that he pretty much hadn't had at all since returning from his second trip to the hospital in barely half a week.

For a long moment, he sat there unmoving, staring at nothing and simply listening to the clock on the wall tick away the seconds of the day, trying to keep himself from thinking about that morning's failed attempt at moving past Friday's events. Shame burned hot on his face at the mere thought of the hour he'd spent at the bottom of those stairs, alternating between standing, pacing, and sitting on the last step, wishing fervently that he could force himself to climb up those steps while knowing all along that he simply couldn't... not yet.

Sighing shallowly, weary of his still bruised ribs, he sank back into the couch cushions, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried his best to relax. The attempt, however, was predictably unsuccessful as he was automatically assailed by all too fresh memories of running back into the kitchen and snatching up the knife off the counter, followed closely by the vivid feeling of detached calculating from where he stood pressed up against the murderer's chest... then snapshoting right on to the moment when he'd stumbled back down the attic stairs - the motionless, lifeless body sprawled on his floor amidst red... the body of the man he himself had killed...

"Got room for one more?" Startled out of his thoughts, Charlie's entire body jerked, bringing him into a sitting position as his wide eyes traveled up to meet his father's carefully constructed neutral expression. Almost immediately looking away, he cleared his throat and shifted a little to the side, allowing enough room from Alan to sit down beside him. He couldn't help but study his son closely, watching as Charlie visibly schooled his expression and his body language into being more relaxed in what was probably a half-baked effort to ease Alan's worrying.

_Sorry Charlie_, he thought grimly to himself. _After having you and your brother as sons for so long, I'm not so easily fooled_. Surprisingly, Charlie was the first to break the silence that had fallen between them.

"So... what have you been up to since breakfast?" he asked, proud at how steady and nonchalant he'd managed to keep his tone of voice. Alan raised an incredulous brow but chose not to comment on the forced casualness (at least not right then), deciding to humor his youngest with a normal conversation.

"Not too much: I cleaned up a bit, did the laundry... called your brother." _That_ caught Charlie's attention, and he quickly turned to face him, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the stitches in his arm and the tender tissue of his ribs.

"Did he say how things with the investigation are progressing?" Alan snorted, obviously still aggravated with that part of the conversation he'd had with Don earlier.

"You know your brother - saying as little as possible about as little as possible; I would've been lucky to get three full sentences about the case out of him - I managed two." Seeing Charlie's shoulders slump a little, the worried furrow in his brow returning, Alan rushed to repeat the message he'd been given to deliver. "He did ask me to tell you though that you don't need to be working on the formulas for the victims any more, that they've gotten what they needed to keep people safe." Alan's heart sang at the small, relieved smile that shone briefly on Charlie's face, but he was careful not to let it show as he carried on. "And he said that when you're feeling up to it, you can start in on the equations for finding the men responsible for all this." Alan was sorry to see his expression become solemn once more as he nodded his agreement with the instructions before settling back into the cushions, focusing his gaze on the pictures on the other side of the room.

The return to silence lasted so long that when Charlie spoke again, Alan jumped in his seat, much like his son had when he'd first approached.

"I wonder..." His voice was a whisper, and he didn't continue, making Alan lean a little closer.

"What is it Charlie?" He couldn't mask his alarm when all expression slipped from Charlie's face, an emotionless mask covering up the inner turmoil behind his words.

"How many families were slaughtered simply because I didn't work hard enough?" Alan's jaw dropped and he gaped openly at him, his disbelieving gaze going unnoticed by Charlie who continued to stare across the room. Before he could scrape together his sense to strongly object to Charlie's self-battering, his son was pushing himself shakily to his feet and walking surprisingly quickly towards the front door, carefully shedding his sling as he went. Still shocked, Alan stumbled after him, catching up with him just as he was sliding into his shoes, not even trying to tie the laces with two arms that were dangerously far from being one hundred percent.

"Charlie, where are you going?" he asked desperately when Charlie snagged his car keys from the hall table, finally having been able to make himself speak after the proverbial blow he'd taken. His tone and volume was enough to attract the attention of Agent York, who strode quickly into the hall, stopping short as he realized he was intruding on a somewhat personal conversation.

"To Don's office," was his swift response, his voice still unnervingly flat. Unsure of where he could grab hold of him without aggravating one of his many injuries, Alan settled for snagging a handful of Charlie's shirt, forcing the mathematician to face him. Alan swallowed hard at the still blank features of his face, his mouth set in a straight line, his eyes giving away nothing, as though an impenetrable shield had been dropped down in front of them.

"Why?" he demanded, glad that he was able to keep his voice relatively steady despite the fraying that had started up again on his severely battered nerves. Apparently he didn't do a good enough job, for his one word brought a little of the real Charlie back to his eyes, his expression becoming softer, his tone matching the slight change.

"This won't be over until every last one of those men are caught." He gently freed his shirt from his father's hand, giving it a small squeeze around his own wrist brace. "This has to stop - I need to stop it, Dad." Something clenched in his gut, telling him in no uncertain terms that this was by no means a good idea, that he should force Charlie to stay, for if he let him walk out that door, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

Against the will of the grim gut-feeling, Alan found himself nodding and making no move to stop his baby boy as he opened the door and stepped out into the gloomy, clouded outdoors; he would talk to him when he got back home, would sit him down and keep the both of them there as long as it took to convince his son to let go of his guilt and let himself relax, let himself be loved, comforted... forgiven for things he never did wrong - he deserved as much. Now all he had to do was convince _himself_ that letting Charlie leave in the first place was the right decision.

_Just hold it together Alan, and stop worrying yourself so much; he's just going down to Don's office, nowhere else - he'll be fine, you'll see. There's no reason to worry..._

Seconds later, Agent York found himself being all but shoved out the door, presumably to tail Charlie to and from the FBI offices. Shrugging on the jacket that he'd fortunately been able to snatch up on his way out, he jogged over to his car and got in, quickly starting the engine and following after Charlie who was already speeding off down the street in the direction of downtown Los Angeles.

* * *

**5:30 P.M**

Numb wouldn't have been the word he'd have chosen to describe what he was feeling right then - in his experience, the term 'numb' implied that he could still feel, albeit very little as feeling would be reduced to faint tingling, pins and needles dispersed randomly throughout his body, mainly in his arms, legs, head, and fingertips. No, what he felt right then wasn't 'numb', it was... nothing, a simple and sudden emptiness, like someone somewhere had flicked a switch and ended up turning off everything inside of him aside from his heart's ability to continue beating - even his breaths had frozen inside of him, held captive in his lungs the moment he heard the first complete phrase Megan had spoken to him since the previous night: "_We just got a call - there was another attack and... Agent Quinn was found dead inside of her apartment half an hour ago by her landlady, one shot to the chest, one to the head, estimated time of death... 7:00 A.M._" The second, sounding as though it were spoken from a distance, and consisting merely of an 'We couldn't reach her yesterday - I'm sorry Don' barely even registered in his mind as he calmly and quietly retreated to the empty men's washroom, walking to the far wall and leaning stiffly against it.

It was only as the coolness of the wall's tiles began to seep into him did he feel it: anger - boiling, building and all-consuming, filling him entirely starting from his very core... anger at the man who had murdered Marcy Quinn... anger at Marcy for going down without a fight... anger at himself for not thinking to put her in protective custody as soon as she'd been attacked, for not figuring out the link between the victims sooner... then - although he knew it to be unfair and irrational - anger at Charlie, for not upholding his reputation as the genius, for not being able to figure it all out months ago, even in spite of the fact that he had hardly anything to work with...

He didn't notice his hand curling into a fist, and the next thing he knew, he spun himself around as though on autopilot, and slammed his fist head-on into the very much solid wall, barely even feeling the profound impact on the limb from his powerful jab. Two more quick hits and a few of his knuckles had split, the rest of them thoroughly bruised.

"Don?... Don! DON!" The yelling of his name finally caught his attention, pulling him from his red haze fast enough for him to stop himself from taking another swing at the wall, and causing him to spin around to face Colby, who had followed after him when he'd seen his reaction (or lack there of) to the news. His hand was shaking and his shoulders heaving slightly from exertion, but his face was set and impassive once more.

"What is it Colby?" he asked, as though his friend had walked in on an every day situation, rather than walking in on him putting forth his best effort to break the wall, or his hands... whichever came first. Colby gawked at him.

"_What is it?_ Don... look at yourself man... you gotta calm down," he sputtered, daring to walk closer so that he was standing directly in front of him, though he couldn't muster the courage to come within swinging range - the cracks in the wall tiles spoke loudly of the power packed behind Don's punches when he was upset, and the last thing Colby wanted was a chipped tooth, or a broken jaw, for that matter. When Don's shoulders sagged a little and he hung his head, some of the tension leaving his stature, Colby managed one small step closer. "Do you get what I'm sayin' to you?" Don nodded slightly, not looking up at him.

"Yeah, I get what you're saying - don't worry, I'm done," he muttered with a vague gesture towards the wall. When Colby remained silent, Don shuffled over to the bathroom counter, bracing his hands against it's edge only to pull back his right hand with a quiet hiss, obviously not having noticed sooner the damage that he'd inflicted on it. With a small sigh, Colby strode over to the paper towel dispenser where he grabbed a few pieces and wet them under the tap before handing them to Don who took them with a nod of thanks, proceeding to carefully clean off the small smudges of blood on his hand and the wall that had come from his abused knuckles.

"Talk to me man; it's not hard to tell that holding everything in just isn't working for you any more." Colby's firm statement froze Don's hand briefly before he carried on, finishing quickly and dropping the used paper towels into the trash, leaning back against the wall beside it, directly across the room from Colby. Exasperated with his continued stubborn silence, Colby lashed out. "Come _on_, Don! This case has been hard on everybody, but you especially with everything that's happened... if you'd just unload your issues on somebody, maybe they could work on helping you through them, rather than just letting yourself stew in them!" Don's head snapped up at that, and Colby swallowed hard at the fierceness on his face, though the action went unnoticed.

"Is that so? You really think you can '_help me through my issues_', Granger?" he hissed, taking a step towards him. "You really want me to 'unload' on you? Alright, let's give it a shot, why the hell not - see what you think of this: we've been on this case for around a week now, and since we've been assigned, eight innocent people, consisting of four FBI agents, one patrolman, two wives, and a fifteen year old boy, have been murdered in cold blood, with little to no evidence at any crime scene, and I've almost gotten myself and my little brother killed twice by being stupid enough to be in all the wrong places at the wrong times; twice I've neglected to put people into a protective custody that would've kept them alive, and I've also managed to force that same little brother into a position where he had to kill the monster that went there in the first place to blow his damn brains out, something that only set the murdering bastards back a day before they resurfaced again to kill another agent. And, to top it all off, this entire time I've had the connection needed to keep these people alive, the connection that all of Charlie's damn useless formulas were too slow to come up with, and now, that _I_ was too slow to come up with."

"Don, you can't -"

"Granger, don't you even _dare_ try and tell me that I can't blame myself!" he yelled, crossing the space between them and coming so close that their noses were practically touching. "'Cause right now, it's a goddamn toss-up between me and Charlie as to who's worked the slowest, and gotten the most people _killed_!"

Don might've continued, but at that moment, during the brief pause in his rant, the slow, gratingly loud creak of the bathroom door gradually opening was heard, and when the two agents turned their heads in the direction of the sound, Don paled and could feel his gut twist painfully at the expression on the face of the man standing frozen in the doorway.

-----

His original plan hadn't been to go looking for Don - after all, he was sure to be preoccupied and busy enough with the developments in the case without having to make conversation with someone. However, after Charlie had succeeded in getting Agent York to return to his house to be with his father, telling him that he'd have all the protection he needed while he was at the FBI offices, Charlie had found that he harbored a deep need to see his older brother; after everything that had transpired throughout that one week, he just wanted to check up on him quickly, to make sure that he was still alive and well, and safely at work at his desk.

When he'd stepped off the elevator just in time to see Don head into the men's room, with Colby quickly following him in for some reason, he'd casually headed over to Megan, asking her what was going on. He'd been unable to keep the shock and distress off of his face when she'd told him that the agent Don had only recently saved had been murdered that morning, Colby's actions suddenly making sense and re-enforcing his original intentions of checking up on Don himself. Thanking Megan and declining her invitation to sit down for a minute, despite how unsteady the news had made him, he'd walked in the same direction as the two previous men had, stopping just short of opening the door when the shouted conversation started, making him wonder whether or not he should leave to give them privacy. In the end, the decision had been made for him as Don shouted out what he really thought, his words having the same effect as a solid, and sudden slap to the face, leaving Charlie stunned and speechless. And, despite his mind's screaming protests, his heart had decided that it would not believe that it had really been Don who said those things unless he saw him in there with his own eyes.

Now, standing frozen in the doorway and looking wide-eyed at Don and Colby standing there, staring back, he found that his mind had abandoned him completely, leaving only his heart to spread the shock and hurt through his body, the pain they caused burning him like liquid fire.

A long, agonizing moment of silence stretched between the three of them, each speechless until Don finally spoke up, any trace of anger gone from his voice that was no louder than a whisper.

"Charlie?" It seemed that was the only word he could force out around the lump that was forming in his throat as he took in the look of shock and hurt that had taken up its new residence on the face of someone who'd already experienced more grief than they could take... and he had put them there. _What have I done?_

Both agents felt their hearts sink as they watched tears well in those expressive brown eyes, and still without saying a word, Charlie hung his head, bit his lip to keep the tears at bay, and quickly ducked out of the washroom, letting the door swing shut behind him. Practically as one, they raced towards the door and darted back out into the hall, looking desperately around the office until they spotted Charlie who had darted into the glass-walled conference room and appeared to be speedily shoving all of his papers into his backpack and briefcase. Quickly joined by Megan who had seen Charlie's escape and guessed that something new had gone wrong, they barged into the room, converging towards the mathematician at the head of the table.

"Charlie..." Don started, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. His hand was expertly sidestepped as Charlie continued what he was doing, not meeting their concerned and, in two cases, guilty expressions, refusing to even acknowledge their presence. Forcing himself to give his brother space, Don continued from where he was, unable to keep from fidgeting nervously. "What're you doing here Buddy?" Charlie's flinch at the normally appreciated nickname did not go unnoticed by any of them, and Don's insides did another three-sixty even before his question was answered in a choked voice that came from under the mop of curls that shielded his face.

"Dad said you wanted me to work on the formulas for catching the perpetrators and... and all my calculations were already here, so I figured I'd come see how you all were doing, and work on it here for the day." It was Don's turn to flinch now, and he did his best to not think of the words he'd spoken only moments ago, tuning out Colby who was explaining the situation to a frowning Megan, and clearing his throat to keep his voice coming out steady.

"Then why are you packing up?"

"I j-just remembered that a lot of my original work was actually in my office at Cal Sci, so... I figured I'd... just head on down there." Despite Charlie's best efforts, several tears slid down his face, dripping off of his jaw and landing on one of his papers. Don could tell when it was that Colby had finished recounting what was said to Megan, for he could literally feel her sharp gaze boring into the back of his head, but at the moment he couldn't care less what she thought of him; his entire focus was on Charlie as he furiously swiped away more tears that were trying to follow the others, then quickly zipped shut his pack and pushed closed the lid of his briefcase.

"Don't do this Charlie... please, don't go - stay," Don asked plaintively, not caring that he was practically to the point of begging; he would do and say whatever it took to get the time with him that he needed in order to fix this.

Again he reached out a hand and this time managed to get a gentle grip on the uninjured shoulder, but felt his hopes at fixing this newest break between them plummeting as Charlie jerked back from his touch, hardly missing a beat as he then snatched up his things and made a beeline for the door, head still bowed low, eyes focused on the floor in front of his feet as he walked. Despite his own ailments, Don was still faster, and he raced ahead of Charlie, beating him to the door and blocking the way out with his arm so that Charlie was forced to stop, and had nowhere else to run to. For a long moment they stood like that until suddenly Charlie's face closed off completely and in a move that shocked them all, he knocked Don's arm away with his free hand, taking a step back out into the hall before he turned and finally faced him, raw hurt mixing brutally with barely contained anger on his face and in his voice.

"We both know you don't want me and my... _useless_ work here - all we're good for is getting more people killed, right?" he ground out, eyes welling up once more. Not wanting to shed more tears in front of his brother and his team, he turned away and took a step towards the elevators.

"Charlie..." Don's soft intone froze him, and he stood there silent for a second before speaking one final time.

"Please Don, just... leave me alone." His plea went unchallenged, and so he quickly returned to the elevators, his shoulders sagging under an invisible weight as he boarded one and hit the button for the main lobby, waiting until the doors were closed before letting the tears fall once more.

Watching his brother walk away from him, his shoulders sagging and his feet stumbling as though he carried the weight of the world, he knew right then that he'd made what was quite possibly the worst mistake of his life a few minutes ago, and worst yet, it was with his own little brother, someone who deserved so much better from him... _And it's not gonna get fixed if you just stand there, buddy - get a move on, already_.

"I'm going after him - cover for me until I get back," he called over his shoulder, already halfway to the elevators.

His frustrated pounding of all the down buttons weren't making the doors open any faster, and by the time one finally got to his floor, he had so much tension and anxiety built up that his hand was shaking again as he pressed the main floor button. When the doors opened again, he raced out of the metal box and out the front doors, just in time to see a mop of brown curls duck into a car, the door slamming shut and the engine spurring to life a second later. As he watched the car pull back out into the street, he noticed immediately that there was no other car following after him - he wasn't being looked after, protected. _What the hell happened to the security detail?_ Deciding that he was going to enjoy tearing those boys a new one when he saw them again, he headed for his SUV, carefully climbing in before starting the engine and pulling out of the lot, driving towards Cal Sci as fast as his uncomfortably slow reflexes would allow.

* * *

**6:15 P.M**

Don's SUV cruised down the dark, nearly empty campus road, the speed at which it was traveling clearly indicating the exhaustion of the one driving it. Trusting his mind's autopilot to kick in and take him where he wanted to go, he let his thoughts wander back to the events of the past week, going all the way back to Monday morning when the case had first arrived on his desk, the crisp manila folder that held it giving no indication of the troubles and hardships, both emotional and physical, that its contents were to bring about. The vehicle slowed even further as he recalled those days leading up to the present, and he sighed deeply, wearily at the memory.

_We never even really made much progress on this nightmare anyway - the only difference between now and Monday is that more people are dead, and the rest of us changed, possibly permanently - Charlie..._

Suddenly unable to see the street clearly, Don pulled his vehicle to the side so that it hugged the curb, turning off the engine, leaving the key in the ignition as he sat back in his seat with a shaky sigh. Staring out his windshield, he saw the Math building of CalSci looming at the end of this street, a single light burning in the window of an office that Don had visited many times before. He shook his head, knowing beyond a doubt that the lone occupant of that cluttered office, a one-of-a-kind genius with once bright but now tired brown eyes, and a head covered in unruly curls was glued to the floor in front of his chalk-boards, scribbling equations onto their surfaces like a madman. He also knew that, thanks to him, that genius worked now with a battered heart, and with the idea that his older brother thought so little of him and what he did, that the one who was always suppose to be there for him had all of a sudden turned against him when he needed him the most...

Don shook his head slowly, blinking at the tears of frustration and self-beratement that burned the backs and corners of his eyes as he thought back to that Wednesday morning, wishing reverently and with heartfelt sorrow that he had never picked up that phone and dialed that number, wishing that he could have had a chance to change his mind about calling before his baby brother had picked up and accepted the job.

Closing his eyes tightly against the beginnings of a stress-induced migraine, Don remembered that Monday morning, remembered that first scene, remembered when this whole disaster had started, the things that had transpired since, wrapped his arms tightly around himself, and cried.

* * *

**6:10 P.M**

Charlie was working purely off adrenaline, any minute energy he'd gotten during his brief rest the night before having been all but whipped out during his and Don's confrontation. He couldn't even begin to describe how relieved and grateful he'd been when he'd arrived on campus and found that the math building was virtually empty at this time of day, Amita and Larry among those who had decided that working on a Sunday just wasn't worth it; if he had run into either of them, he wasn't sure he would've been capable of coming up with a decent, never mind believable, excuse as to why he looked the way he did, pale, shell-shocked, and constantly on the verge of breaking down - he wasn't even sure he would've been able to speak, period.

He paused for a moment in the writing he'd been doing on the blackboard in the center of his office's far wall, unwillingly remembering the words he'd overheard Don yelling to his colleague about him... about how he got people killed...

The beginnings of a sob built up in his throat, but he pushed it down furiously, stubbornly refusing to let his turbulent emotions overwhelm him as he continued to work on the equations he'd built for the purpose of locating the perpetrators.

_Useless formulas..._

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut as his big brother's angry words shot through his mind, equally stubborn in their refusal to be forgotten, or ignored.

_Worked the slowest, gotten the most people killed..._

With a loud cry, his eyes shot open and he whipped his piece of chalk across the room with such force that it didn't merely break, but ended up shattering against the wall, shards and powder exploding from the point of impact and dotting the carpeted floor liberally. Breathing heavily, he dropped none-too carefully into his chair, ignoring the answering pangs all over his body much easier than he was ignoring his own thoughts. _How could Don actually think that way? How _could_ he? _

He'd thought, basically back since they'd first started working together, that Don had his back, would always be there for him, support him, protect him... hell, maybe even grow to enjoy his company, and appreciate the work he did in mathematics. He had to hand it to Don, he was damn good at faking that appreciation, and his trust in him, just like he was good at hiding every emotion, every scrap of feeling from prying eyes, both of the familial and criminal sort; it seemed as though he'd simply been doing it for so long, it had become second nature to him, and had had Charlie falling for it, hook line and sinker._ How could I be so _stupid

"We all have our days, Professor - today is yours."

Charlie froze at the same time as the blood in his veins, his eyes widening as his hands secured a death-grip on the edge of his seat. He hadn't even realized he'd spoken that last thought out loud, but more importantly, he definitely had _not_ realized that he was no longer alone in the room. Struggling to keep calm, he began to turn around to face this less-than-friendly-sounding new comer, only to be stopped by a hand suddenly gripping his bad shoulder, the waves of resulting pain almost distracting him from the all too familiar feel of a gun's barrel pushing into the skin at the base of his neck.

"Ditching your FBI bodyguard... _definitely_ your most stupid move - coming here alone, with no one else around... that one's a close second."

He grunted and hissed, his eyes squeezed shut once again as he rode out the pain, unfortunately still able to hear and understand this man's every word. The worst of it had hardly finished before he was being pulled to his feet by the same shoulder, the agony that tore through the straining stitches and the wound beneath them almost enough to send him to his knees, were it not for the fact that he was being dragged forwards, in the direction of the window. Once there, he was forced to sit, something his weakened legs readily complied with, and he sat there gasping, hardly registering the fact that his hands were being pulled behind his back and handcuffed securely around a pipe on the old-fashioned radiator that he'd petitioned months ago to have replaced; he wished now, more than ever before, that someone had listened to him, for he had the sudden inescapable feeling that his hands were very important right then...

The crinkling of a bag caught his attention, and he quickly raised his head and saw that, much to his horror, his intuition had been right as the clear plastic bag was forced down over his head, his attacker already starting to seal the edges securely around his neck with duck tape before he could even think to struggle. Instinctively, he began to breathe is short, shallow breaths, already beginning to calculate the amount of oxygen per cubic centimeter that could be held in the bag, thereby determining how much time he had before -

"I've heard the longest a man can survive breathing in a bag like you are is fifteen minutes," the man commented lightly, succeeding in ending Charlie's desperate thought process. With nothing else to do, Charlie at last dared to meet the man's gaze, shivering at the pure hatred and malevolence written in the man's eyes through the hole in his ski mask. He was sure he heard a mocking smirk as he continued. "What do you say, _Charlie_ - wanna test that theory?" He glanced lingeringly at his watch, and Charlie's heart faltered in his chest, his head already starting to feel light from his scarce breathing. "Let's see if you can last until big brother gets here. Who knows? You might actually make it. After all, he's already sitting in his car just outside."

_That_ caught his attention. _Don? What would he be doing here? Shouldn't he be at the office? Why would he leave?_ He was pulled from his confused thoughts as he felt his cell phone being pulled from his pant pocket, and he watched as the man fiddled with the buttons, pulling up Don's cell number and then the screen for text messaging. Giving in to the feelings of helplessness, he watched the man type out a message and hit send, realizing then that this was it - no turning back, no last minute saves or close calls...

He was going to die tonight.

* * *

Don nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone trilled from its place on his belt, and it took a moment for him to be able to pull himself together enough to answer it, taking a moment longer to realize that it was a text message instead of verbal... and it was from Charlie. His nervousness alleviated slightly as he read the words written across the LCD screen: _Saw you outside, figured you should come in - I could use the company._ This was a good thing, him wanting to see him, wanting him to keep him company while he worked. Don wouldn't push his luck so far as to assume that all was forgiven, so soon after it had all fallen apart, but he was quite willing to believe that such a thing was possible for them to begin to work towards, no matter how long it took to get there. 

Still grasping the phone, he climbed out of his vehicle, closing and locking the door before heading speedily towards the Math building. In no time at all, he was inside and moving steadily through the halls, feeling more and more optimistic and confidant the closer he got; he could fix this, he _would_ fix this - he had been given the chance, all he had to do was take it.

He was just turning into the appropriate hall when his cell phone rang again, the screen identifying this caller as Megan. Sighing at the possible chewing-out he was about to get, he answered.

"Eppes."

"Hey Don, it's me - I was just going to ask how things went with Charlie." He could hear the tightness in her voice, and smiled grimly at the practiced restraint she was exhibiting.

"Actually I was just on my way to his office right now - he texted me, invited me in." Her tone lightened a little.

"That's good news Don - talk to him, and don't screw it up even more." He chuckled a little at the not-so-subtle chastising as he came to a stop outside Charlie's office door, his hand resting on the doorknob and beginning to turn it.

"Don't worry Megan, I won't." He opened the door and stepped into the room, which was lit dimly by one lamp on the desk. "We'll work it out; everything's going to be fi-" His words stuck in his throat along with his breath as he stepped further into the room, around the bookshelves, and got a clear view of the radiator under the window... and Charlie, who was sprawled on the floor in front of it, hands behind his back, and a clear bag tapped over his bowed head. _Oh my God_...

A man stepped into his line of sight then, Charlie's cell phone clutched in his gloved hand, his eyes that were visible through the hole in his ski mask glinting viciously.

"Glad you could join us, Don."

Before he could even think to tell Megan what was going on, never mind draw his own weapon, pain exploded from the back of his head, a short cry escaping his lips. And even as he was falling forward, Megan's voice shouting over the line for him to answer her, only one clear thought rang out in his scrambled mind:

_Great - another concussion._

* * *

_TBC _


	13. Sunday: The Seventh Day, 6:30 PM

**A/N:** so here we are again, and it looks like it's been a whole friggin' month since i've updated. now before you all pull out your rotten tomatoes to throw at me, i'll take a sec to explain: pretty much the day after i posted the last chapter, i had to start a new physio therapy program (again), and i've been half-dead ever since - i can't remember when it was that i got a decent sleep, or that i could move faster than the speed of a friggin crawl. needless to say, it was a struggle to get this chapter written in a constant zombie-mode, especially when i can't focuss on the screen, or i can't lift my friggin arms to type, so i hope that you all enjoy it, and that it was worth the wait :)

(Note - there should only be a few more chapters to go after this one, so hang in there with me guys!)

(Note 2 - for the authors of the fics i haven't reviewed on yet: i'm so so sorry - i've been reading bits and pieces at a time, since that's all i've got the energy for nowadays - i promise i'll be finished soon :( - sigh)

* * *

**Chapter 13 - Sunday, The Seventh Day (6:30 P.M)**

Sitting back in her chair, Megan stared mutely at the receiver in her hand through which a dial tone was now sounding, her mouth hanging open slightly as her already over-taxed brain tried to make sense of what she'd just heard. Originally, she had called Don with the intention of giving him a piece of her mind for what he'd said earlier to upset Charlie so much, figuring that the chances of Don actually having tried to make up with him already were slim to none; it wasn't that she didn't think Don cared a great deal about Charlie, because it was more than obvious that he did, it was simply due to just how badly he had hurt him, and she saw clearly on the younger Eppes' face when he'd rushed from the conference room that Don's words had cut deep. It was for that reason that she'd been pleasantly surprised when she'd heard that he was in fact on his way to see Charlie right at that moment.

She'd been unable to resist getting in at least a little of her intended lecture, even though it wasn't entirely necessary now, and had been glad all the same to hear a second reassurance that he had no intention of messing up his chance of putting things right again. However, for some reason he'd cut himself off mid-sentence, right in the middle of a word, actually; his silence had then been interrupted by words being murmured in the background, and then the dead air had been permeated by a faint, short sound that seemed to be a cross between a surprised and pained grunt, much like the sound a person would make if they were caught off guard by a solid kick to the shin. She'd called his name out over the line several times but he never answered, and a second later her ear was assaulted with the noise of the clatter that was Don's cell phone hitting the ground, overlapped by another louder, less sharp thud that she couldn't immediately identify.

Then, without a single word, someone had hit the 'End' button on the other end, and she was left with the current dial tone, too shocked at first to react immediately to what she'd just heard, her brain numbly trying to process it all.

_Don must've come across someone, not Charlie, that surprised him... then that someone... they attacked him, hit him hard enough to make him drop his phone and collapse... and there's only one possibility of just who that someone could be._

She'd just hung up her own phone when that thought ran through her mind, causing her to go rigid in her chair.

_Here's a question for ya Megan: if you know that Don, and probably Charlie as well have been attacked... what in the hell are you doing still sitting at your desk?_

Snapped out of her exhaustion-induced confusion, she jumped to her feet, swiftly reattaching her gun and her cell phone to her belt before darting around her chair and snatching up her jacket, running full-tilt towards the war room where both David and Colby had set up shop for the colossal amount of printed-off files that they had to sort through. The crash of the door hitting the wall as she burst into the room made both men jump and stare at her with owlishly wide eyes, asking with their expressions what the big emergency was, too tired and occupied to actually form the sentence out loud.

"Don and Charlie - in trouble - Cal Sci - _let's go_."

Her abbreviated explanation was more than enough to have both men jumping up from their seats as well, already armed and ready to go as they followed Megan in running from the room and to the elevators, jumping into one just as the doors were closing and viciously stabbing the button for the main floor. Once in the lobby, they were running once again, dodging what people they could, shoving their way through the rest as they shot towards the doors and out into the parking lot, converging towards Colby's car, which was parked closest to the front of the building. Only when they were all on board and the car was speeding down the highway with Colby at the wheel did Megan think to call for back-up, calling SWAT on her phone, and having David place a distress call directly with the bureau; not knowing how many armed perpetrators they were going to be up against, they weren't going to be taking any chances of being out-gunned or out-numbered.

Now, all they had left to do was show up to save the day; just like any good movie-styled cavalry, they would barge onto the scene in the knick of time, right before their friends met their end, and they would free them and arrest the bad-guys. Very neat, non-violent, and simple - no more blood would be shed, and they could finally bring this whole mess to a close and all live happily ever after...

Following David's example of checking to make sure her clip was full, and her gun ready to fire, Megan shook her head disdainfully at her painfully foolish hopes, somehow doubting very much that this would be at all easy or painless to resolve.

_Happily ever after? Yeah, right_.

* * *

Don came to with a low groan, refusing to even entertain the idea of opening his eyes until the feeling of constantly falling eased off a little bit. It was another minute or so before he was oriented enough to realize that he was already sitting, though not of his own volition; something seemed to be holding his upper body up against something solid at his back while his legs were stretched out in front of him. It was a little longer before the ache in his neck and shoulders registered through his concussed haze, and gradually he remembered what it was that had brought him to be sitting on the floor, hands bound behind him, remembered walking into Charlie's office, a sudden pain in his head, falling... hitting the ground... then another image leapt into his mind: one of his brother bound and suffocating on the floor by the window, head bowed, unmoving. 

The memory acted as a physical jolt that snapped his eyes wide open, heedless of the assaulting dizziness and nausea as he whipped his head back and forth, trying desperately to see clearly enough so as to locate his brother. When his vision finally straightened out and grew re-accustomed to the dim lighting of the lamp, he could see from where he was sitting that he was facing the bookshelf beside the door, meaning that the hard surface digging into his back had to have been the furthest corner of Charlie's desk, and the window would be to his right. With no shortage of apprehension, he turned his head to his right.

He was unable to bite back a faint, distressed cry as his eyes found his little brother to be exactly as he'd remembered, bag and all, in the exact same position as he'd been when Don had first entered the room. No matter how hard Don tried, he couldn't stop the waves of anxiety from washing over him as he strained to try and see Charlie's chest expanding, or even the bag over his head growing and deflating with his breaths. He was so focused on seeing proof that Charlie was still alive that he didn't realize they had company until said company spoke.

"Don't worry Don - he's not dead... yet." The man came around the desk and into his line of sight, wisely staying out of kicking distance as he casually moved over to Charlie's side, regarding the youngest man coldly. "Where are your manners Charlie? Say 'hi' to your brother." He accompanied the command with a rough nudge to his hip with his boot, and Don would have voiced an objection to the action were it not for the incredible relief he felt as Charlie obediently lifted his head and tossed a muffled greeting his way, deliberately avoiding meeting Don's gaze. "In fact," the man continued, wandering over to lean up against the bookshelf, "Charlie and I had just been discussing breathing time in a bag, when you joined us; I believe our estimate was somewhere around fifteen minutes..." He made a show of looking at his watch, and Don wondered if the sound of his teeth grinding together would travel across the room. "...nearly ten of which has already been used up, between the time it took for you to get here from your car, and then the precious few minutes you took to regain consciousness just now. However, being as smart as he is, I have no doubts that he's figured out that if he's careful with how many breaths he takes, and how long they are, he just might stick around for twenty minutes instead."

Not wanting to let on just how terrified he was, Don decided to stall for time using a tact that had worked wonders for him in the past: occupy and distract the bad guy by being a smart-ass, which, according to his father, came naturally. Who knows: if he could hold out long enough, they might stand a chance of being alive by the time the rest of his team showed up to save their necks, which he was sure was a guarantee considering how his conversation with Megan had ended.

"As... _fun_, and educational as this little talk is, I'm starting to wonder if, sometime soon, you're actually going to get around to the point behind all this," he ground out, fixing the murderer with a solid glare. The glare faltered when the murderer's face was split by a chilling smile.

"You know Agent Eppes, you're right - I should just skip right to the punch line." And with that he strode briskly back over to Charlie, pulling out his gun on the way, then pressing the end of the silencer's barrel to the middle of Charlie's forehead, thumbing back the hammer.

"NO! Wait, don't!" he cried desperately, straining forward abruptly against the cuffs that held him back, ignoring the resulting grinding feeling in his ribs. His outburst earned him a look of feigned surprise.

"What's this? I remember quite clearly that you wanted me to 'get around to the point', and this right here," he said, teasing the trigger, making Don strain harder, "is my point." That same smile that nearly made Don want to squirm. "Have we changed our mind about rushing things?" Don nodded stiffly, eyes wide and never leaving Charlie's strangely blank and impassive face.

Even as the man nodded in satisfaction and replaced the gun in the holster on his hip, beginning to pace around the office, Charlie's features remained the same, the expression he bore one that Don was having a hard time identifying. He wanted more than anything to reassure him that he was going to be all right, that help was on the way and that it was only a matter of time, but it didn't seem as though the man was going to be leaving the room any time soon, so all Don could do was hope that at one point Charlie would actually look at him so that he could reassure him without words, although it didn't look like _that_ was going to happen any time soon either; for whatever reason, Charlie's eyes remained glued on the floor in front of him, rarely even blinking as he breathed the occasional shallow breath. Don knew that the position he was in had to be hurting his shoulder, but Charlie's face showed no indication of that pain, or anything else for that matter - no fear, no anxiety, just... nothing. Don frowned, trying to imagine what was going through Charlie's head right then for him to be so unbelievably calm. He turned his head back to the man who now simply stood watching him from his chosen place up against the bookcase.

"Why the charade?" he demanded. "Not that I object to avoiding a bullet for another few minutes, but if you're planning on killing us anyways, why are you waiting? What do you want from us?" The man's eyes narrowed.

"Why don't you ask your brother?" he spat, crossing his arms over his chest. "Turns out, I'm not the only killer in this room." Don looked back over at Charlie just in time to see his eyes squeeze shut as he pulled his legs up until they were tucked tightly against his chest, an unconscious attempt at 'protecting' himself from the words that were being thrown at him. "The man he murdered was like a brother to me, Eppes. How long did it take him to die Charlie? A minute? Ten? How long did you actually hesitate before you decided to murder a man who has had his entire world and everything in it that he loved ripped away from him in one day? Huh, Charlie? How long did you think about it before you murdered my brother?"

"_Shut up_!" Don yelled angrily over at him. Even though Charlie had hidden his face from view, his entire body flinched visibly with the man's cruel and brutal verbal attacks, and his shoulders were shaking lightly as though from silent sobs. Seeing him falling apart like this was tearing him apart, and he wracked his brain desperately for the right thing to say to keep the other man's words from destroying him, saying the first things that came to mind. "Listen to me Charlie: you're _not_ a murderer - you did what you _had_ to do, not what you _wanted_ to do..."

"You _murdered_ him Charlie."

"It was self defense."

"You took his life in cold blood."

"It was an _accident_."

"You just sat back and watched him bleed to death."

"You couldn't have known the cut was fatal."

"You're no better than all those other pigs we've killed - you're a murderer, just like them."

"_Enough!_"

The word came out of Don's mouth as no less than a roar, and was enough to bring a temporary stop to their back and forth accusations and rebuttals, leaving both of them seething for a moment before the man once more drew his gun, also retrieving Charlie's cell phone from his pocket before striding briskly over to Don. Afraid that his words had earned him a few extra bruises, Don flinched away from him, pulling as far away as the cuffs binding him to the desk would allow. The man sneered and once more closed the distance between them, fiddling with the buttons on the phone for a moment before holding it up for Don to see.

"You know how we operate, Eppes - this little party is one man shy." Frowning in confusion, Don looked at the name and number that had been pulled up from the speed-dial directory and felt the previous nausea return full-force at the sight of the word 'Dad' printed on the screen. "Now what's going to happen is this: we're going to give your old man a call, and I don't care how you phrase it, but you're going to get him to get over here, and fast."

Tearing his eyes from the screen, he fixed the man with a steely look of defiance. For a moment, he took in the blunt refusal written all over Don's face, then, without a word, he stepped over his legs and stood beside Charlie, this time pressing the barrel of his gun up against the front of his shoulder. He looked back over at Don's now panicked expression.

"For every minute that goes by without the call being made - and to my satisfaction - I will put a bullet in your little brother. Your choice, Agent Eppes: make the call, or let Charlie here suffer."

Don looked frantically from Charlie to the man, knowing that he honestly had no choice but to do as he asked, and get their father to come to Cal Sci, right into a trap. If he didn't, Charlie wouldn't have to suffocate - he'd bleed to death long before help got there.

_Think about it Don: Megan and the guys have got to be close to getting here by now - even if I call Dad right now, there's no way he'll get here first, right? So really, the call would be harmless - I call him, and by the time he gets here, this whole mess will be over, and I can avoid getting my little brother pumped full of lead; it's a win-win situation... sort of._

Don looked back down at Charlie, noticing that his legs were starting to squirm a little, his arms beginning to pull and strain against the cuffs holding them behind him; he found himself wondering what the odds were that Charlie would last all the way until the arrival of the help that Don was counting on. _I'll bet he's already got that one figured out, knowing him..._

"I promise: when your dad gets here, I'll kill all three of you quickly - I have no interest in drawing this thing out even longer than I already have." The cold statement drew Don's sharp gaze back up to the man, and he ground his teeth against a retort, instead resolutely nodding his head, silently willing Charlie to hold on as the phone was pressed up against his ear, only two rings passing before the other line was picked up.

* * *

He had spent the entire night trying to relax, trying to convince himself that he was worrying much more than he had to. Of course it hadn't worked in the least and now, at a little bit after six-thirty, Alan found himself unable to sit still and unable to focus enough to even read yesterday's newspaper. With an exasperated sigh, he finally gave up and folded the pages together, dropping them onto the coffee table, followed closely by his reading glasses before he stood from his chair and made his way slowly into the kitchen. 

He wasn't sure where the two agents were in the house, but he got the distinct impression that both were due for a caffeine boost, and maybe even some supper, though he wasn't sure how good a meal he'd be able to cook with how little fresh supplies he had; he'd tried to convince the agents to bring him to the market so that he could shop, but had been blatantly turned down with both of them saying something about there being too many angles of attack to defend against, and it not being worth the risk.

Snuffing indignantly to himself, and ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that said they were absolutely right, he set about cooking over-easy eggs and toast, figuring fast and simple egg sandwiches with coffee would suit their rotation schedule nicely, and he could make a few extras for one of them to bring out to the agents that were outside working the perimeter...

The thought made him shake his head, still unable to really believe just how far things had gone, and how quickly it had all become so dangerous to them all, so much so that they now had the need for their own private, twenty-four-hour-a-day body guards. Had he known exactly what they were dealing with back when Charlie had first started working independently on those formulas, he would've gone out of his way to convince Charlie to hand it off to someone else, to the first person they could find; he would have done anything short of burning down the garage to for once get his youngest to say 'no' to a consulting project, something that he'd pretty much stopped doing ever since that first case he and Don worked on together - it simply wasn't worth all the heartache that it had rained down upon them.

He was just about to break open the first egg when the phone rang, startling him considering how tightly wound he had been all day, and making his steps somewhat uneven as he moved across the room to pick up the cordless that had thankfully been cleaned off since Charlie had used it on Friday. Shuddering at the mere thought of that day, he answered as cheerfully as he could.

"Hello?"

"Dad." The relief he felt at hearing Don's voice was countered by the severe unease that sprouted in his stomach at the tone in which his son had answered him, his voice filled with a combination of anger and weariness that confused and frightened him all the more.

"Donnie? What's wrong? Where are you?"

"Nothing's wrong Dad, I'm fine... everything's fine." Alan's frown deepened. "I was just here with Charlie at Cal Sci, and we were both getting hungry, so we figured we'd invite you over to grab some supper with us, my treat." The unease took deeper root in his gut, the feeling the same one he'd had earlier when he'd watched Charlie walk out the front door, and he was sure his trepidation could be heard over the line.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd feel much better if you two would come back here to eat. Plus, I get the feeling that our security detail would not fancy a field trip to the campus."

"Megan dropped by? What time did she get there?" The two questions froze him in his nervous pacing, and he gaped openly at nothing._ What in the world was Don talking about?_ Before he could demand to know what had gotten into him, Don continued, speaking as though Alan had answered him. "Well, just tell her that I'll have to catch up with her later. If it's important, she'll just have to get David and Colby to give her a hand - I really can't leave Charlie by himself right now." His confusion was overridden by the last statement, and he opted to set aside his questions about everything that he'd heard so far to focus on a more important issue.

"What? Why? What happened? Is he all right?" The answer to his quick-fire questions had a biting quality to them that he couldn't begin to understand any more than what he was listening to.

"Don't worry Dad, he's fine, just a little dizzy and loopy - it's probably another side-effect from the blood loss, and not enough food, or something like that. So, do you think you can make it over here?"

"I - I guess so, I mean, I'll do my best," he sputtered, thrown off-balance by Don's evasiveness and the non-sense he was spouting. "It might take considerable convincing for your agents, though. I'm not even sure I'll be able to -"

"That's great Dad, I'll see you soon - tell Megan I said 'hi'." The interruption was followed quickly by a dial tone, after which Alan lowered his hand, staring, mouth agape, at the phone he held for a long moment before having the sense to hang up as well. That done, he stared at the object a while longer, trying desperately to make sense of the conversation that had just taken place, if you could even call it that. _What was _that_ about? The way he was talking... it was as stiff as he would be with an acquaintance, and then there was that whole thing about Megan... I can't even begin to imagine how he could've thought I'd said that Megan was here - it just makes _no sense

Abruptly, his grip tightened on the phone as the unease returned full-force, and he realized that there was only one possible explanation for it all: just as he'd feared, something had gone terribly wrong, not just with Charlie, but with Don as well. And hadn't he said something about telling Megan that he'd said 'hi'? Maybe that was the only way he could tell him that he needed him to call Megan, and get her to go help them out of whatever new trouble that had found them.

Decision made, he was just about to begin dialing her number when the phone rang in his hand, almost making him drop it as he fumbled to answer.

"H-Hello?"

"Alan, it's Megan." He sighed with relief.

"Thank God - I was just about to call you."

"Why? Has something happened at the house?" Her voice sounded strained and hurried, and he wondered what she knew that he didn't, almost afraid to ask.

"No, nothing like that. It's Don... he just called me, saying he was with Charlie at Cal Sci, and inviting me to dinner with them, but Megan... I _know_ that something's wrong - he didn't sound right, and he kept talking like you were here with me at the house, asking when you got here and asking me to say 'hi' to you for him, and -" Megan cut him off, the tension in her voice palpable.

"Alan, I was talking to Don not long ago - he was attacked during our conversation, and we're sure that he was in the vicinity of Charlie's office when it happened, so chances are that they are both being held captive. Our team, plus back-up that's still being assembled, is already headed for Cal Sci." He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard, wishing with all his heart that he would've listened to his gut and kept Charlie safe at home, kept him from being harmed when he'd had the chance.

_Even if he comes out of this without any new bumps or bruises, I'll never forgive myself for letting him leave in the first place..._

"...so we should be on campus in a matter of minutes." He realized with a jolt that he'd tuned out for a few seconds, and hastily rejoined the conversation.

"Good, that's... good." Her responding sigh was one of sheer exhaustion, though she made an admirable effort to keep the exhaustion out of her voice.

"We'll get them back, Alan, I promise." A voice, presumably either Colby's or David's, murmured in the background, and Megan answered them before returning to him. "We're coming up on Cal Sci - I've got to let you go." Scuffling sounds, complete with the sound of the velcro on their bulletproof vests being peeled back and the metallic clicks of guns being readied rang out over the line, and Alan leaned back against the counter, his knees feeling a little weak. "Just stay at the house with the agents, and I'll call you the second it's over." She didn't give him a chance to object before she too hung up on him, leaving him once more with nothing but his terrified thoughts and a dial tone.

It didn't take long for him to decide that there was no way he was just going to wait around in the safety of Charlie's house while his boys were being held hostage elsewhere, and he quickly dropped the phone onto the counter and strode out into the hallway.

"Agent York? Agent Wyatt?" he yelled, and was rewarded with the pounding of two sets of feet running towards him from their separate positions on the main floor, each reaching his side in a matter of seconds. Before either of them could ask what had happened, he was manhandling them both towards the door, snatching up his own car keys on the way. "Agent Reeves just called, and said that it was very important that we get to Cal Sci immediately."

"Wait, wha-... why?" Wyatt demanded haltingly as the group made their way down the front walkway towards their car and Alan's, parked one in front of the other in the driveway.

"She didn't exactly have time to give details - she just said that she needed us there, and that it was an emergency," he snapped, unlocking his car door at the same time as York unlocked his own. Before he could slam his door shut again, he was satisfied to hear Agent York on his cell phone, informing the perimeter agents that they were to come with them to Cal Sci, by order of Megan Reeves.

In the back of his mind, he had the decency to feel ever so slightly guilty for ignoring Megan's order, and lying to his protectors to get them going. However, as their three cars sped off towards where his sons were being held by the same men that had made several attempts to kill them after having killed so many already, he found that guilt to be crushed under his need to be there for them when it was over, and his determination to do whatever was necessary to make that happen.

* * *

The second that the man hung up on their Dad, Don whipped his head back over to Charlie and felt his heart plummet as he watched his eyes squeeze shut and his upper body sway, his hands clenching and unclenching and his body shaking with each shallow breath. It looked as though he was bordering on blacking out, while at the same time struggling against the need for a deep inhale and exhale. Noticing vaguely that their captor had gone into the hall to converse with his companion, he strained his upper body forward, ignoring the answering pangs in both his torso and neck as he managed to pull the heavy desk just that little bit closer so that he was no more than five feet away from Charlie who still had his eyes closed. He hoped that the two in the hall were deep enough in conversation that they wouldn't hear him as he carefully nudged Charlie's foot with his own. 

"Charlie?... Come on, look at me... _please_." The 'please' did the trick and slowly, jerkily, Charlie raised his head and opened his eyes, the fear written in those brown depths enough to make his voice catch for a second before he cleared his throat quietly to make it work again. "You trust me, right?" At first, his only answer was an intense stare, during which he was sure that Charlie's mind had brought him back to the terrible things Don had said earlier, but then, just as he was beginning to fear that the answer was 'no', he saw Charlie's lips move, and his muffled voice made it to his ears.

"_Yes_." Biting back a relieved exhale, Don was careful to fix a convincing look of conviction on his face.

"Then believe me when I say that this will be over soon, and that we'll both be fine - help is on the way, you just gotta hold on for me until it gets here, alright? Can you do that for me?" Don couldn't even begin to say how hard he was praying that help was indeed on the way, and that he hadn't just lied to his dying brother's face, filling him with false hope. On the other hand, false hope was better than no hope at all, right? Maybe, just maybe his words would give Charlie what he needed to survive this thing, giving him a foreseeable and positive end to focus on.

Another small hesitation, then a jerky nod of agreement, after which his eyes fluttered closed again and he seemingly concentrated all his efforts on another small series of shallow breaths. No matter how much it hurt Don to see his little brother like this, he refused to let himself look away - looking away would be like abandoning him, leaving him to suffer alone, and that was something that he would sooner die than do. Since it was physically impossible for Don to help him, all he could do was hope that his being here with him through it all would be enough.

At that moment, the murmuring of voices in the hall stopped, and the same man from before stepped back into the room, checking the clip in his gun as he went.

"My esteemed colleague has reminded me that your father is likely to come with a fairly hefty FBI escort, so this might last a little longer than I'd thought, seeing as we'll have to kill them first before we can get to you guys - hope you don't mind." He smirked to himself and moved back around Charlie's desk, collecting whatever it was that he'd left on its surface beforehand. When he walked back into Don's line of sight, he was carrying a sawed-off shotgun, his handgun still in the holster on his hip. Before he could return to the hallway, Don's voice stopped him.

"What I'd like to know is how you live with yourself, you murdering son of a bitch." His hissed words wound the man's body language with tension as he answered, not turning around to face him.

"All of you... you have to pay for what was done." There was an edge to his voice that was making Don even more nervous, if that were possible - it was obvious that it wouldn't take much to set him off, but Don really had no choice but to continue; if he stopped now and let them head to the front to await his father, they would be there to see the arrival of Megan and the rest of the cavalry, and have the advantage over them in the gunfight that would no doubt ensue. And if his team couldn't help him, then no one could, not soon enough to save Charlie anyway.

"What happened was not the fault of any of the officers on scene; they did the best they could in the situation - it wasn't their fault that so many hostages were killed." The man took on a sharp, quiet tone, and Don watched nervously as the hand that held the shotgun idly fingered the trigger, hoping that he wasn't about to be shot for his declaration.

"Did you know that in the final incident report, it was estimated that before the police and the FBI initiated a full breach, there were almost _fifty _survivors. It was supposed 'friendly fire' that cut that number in half. Mine and Baker's wives... our children... they were slaughtered by _your_ bullets, Agent Eppes, yours and those of your teammates. If it hadn't been for you, we would still have our families right now, we wouldn't be here... Baker wouldn't have been killed."

Don would never be able to figure out what had possessed him to say what he said next, even out of anger, considering just how precarious this man's hold on calm and control was already; although, in his defense, he'd been given a hell of a lot to be angry about that week.

"The only reason your friend got himself killed was because of what you're doing - _you_ are the reason you're here, not me, and sure as hell not Charlie, or any of the other officers and families your little group has murdered," he ground out, blood boiling at the dozens of gruesome images of all of this man's victims that easily found their way to the forefront of his mind. "Baker is dead because of your decision to murder innocent people, so as far as sympathy for Baker's death, or for your families, you can go to hell - after everything you've done, you don't _deserve_ sympathy."

His stomach clenched as the man whipped around, his insides doing a complete flip at the crazed rage that flashed through the man's eyes as he took a few quick steps towards him, raising the gun and...

"Zack! Get out here, man - I think I heard something over by the stairs!" Glancing quickly behind him, he returned a steely gaze to Don, it's intensity making the agent swallow hard.

"To be continued, Eppes," he growled before taking off out the door, once again leaving the brothers alone in the room.

Now that he had yet again sidestepped a bullet, if only temporarily, Don returned to watching over Charlie, doing his best to ignore the fact that his breaths were becoming smaller and fewer with each passing second as he willed his team to hurry up.

_Don't let us down now, guys - we're running out of time._

* * *

Though all three of them knew that a silent approach was probably critical in getting their friends back alive and in one piece, they also had the distinct impression that time was of the essence, and they couldn't keep themselves from full-on sprinting from their car and into the building, not slowing down until they'd made it through the Math building's lobby and down the hall to the staircase. Even then, they only brought the pace down slightly, enough to hopefully reduce the sound of their pounding feet on the stairs so that it couldn't be heard by anyone on the floors above them. 

By the time they made it to the floor that housed Charlie's office, each was so pumped up on a mix of adrenaline and fear that it was all they could do to stand still long enough to make quiet work of opening the door and closing it behind them once they'd stepped out into the virtually pitch-black hallway. Relying on subtle hand signals that could just barely be made out through the darkness, they gradually made their way forward, checking cautiously around each corner and bend, inside every doorway for their as yet unaccounted for perpetrators. At this point, each of them was working diligently to distance themselves from their personal relationships with the brothers, knowing all too well that emotions would only get in the way of doing what had to be done to come out of this whole thing on top, rather than buried six feet beneath it.

The first shot was virtually silent, clearly having passed through a silencer before slamming into the drywall of the corner at the hallway's intersection, barely an inch in front of Megan's head. Even as she scrunched her eyes shut, swearing avidly at the small chunks of wall that had hit her face and especially at the cloud of dust that stung relentlessly at her eyes, Megan joined her coworkers in ducking into the only cover available to them, Colby and David each going for a classroom doorway while Megan stumbled into the miniature cavern-like space that sheltered the water fountain.

They'd barely gotten out of the line of fire before the loud, distinct bang of a shotgun echoed around them, another small section of the wall exploding in a cloud of dust a few feet away from the wall Megan stood behind. A constant barrage of bullets started up, alternating between the shotgun and handgun that was now without the silencer, wreaking havoc on their surroundings as well as their cover. As quickly as she could, she ran the water and splashed a handful of the cool liquid into her open eyes, immediately feeling some small form of relief from the distracting burning.

"Megan, you all right?" David's voice came from somewhere a few feet further down the hall from her, and she busied herself with sufficiently drying her hands and eyes on her clothes as she called back.

"Yeah, I'm okay - I'm not hit," she clarified, and could practically feel the other two relax a little, ready to move into problem-solving now that they were sure that the body count of the Jersey Cop Killers wasn't about to go up by one. Now that Megan could see again, she risked a quick peek around the wall she was taking cover behind, knowing that the other two were doing the same. From where she stood, she was having no luck in getting a fix on the shooter's position in the gloom. However, even if the lights were on and the now somewhat smothering dust cleared up, she somehow doubted that the person would be stupid enough to leave themselves visible, out in the open to be shot. "You guys see anything?" she asked, looking and spotting Colby in a doorway further back behind her.

"Nothing."

"Can't make anything out." Their answers made it back to her over the din of the continuing gunshots, and her mind quickly jumped to a decision.

"Here's how it's gonna go: we're leap-frogging it down the hall - the furthest back heads for the first doorway past the one up front while the other two give cover fire, and so on, Colby first. Ready?"

"Yeah."

"As ever." She nodded determinedly.

"Right - on three then: one... two... _three - go_, _go_, _GO_!"

She felt more than saw Colby run by her, and right away she provided cover fire until she saw Colby dart back to the side, then she took her turn, racing down the hall and past him to the next doorway, wasting no time in continuing to fire while wishing the gunmen would quit aiming for the walls so that all the damn dust would settle and she could actually see more than five feet in front of her. They kept up a steady pace and gradually progressed down the hall until Megan recognized the open door to the familiar office and signaled the other two.

"I'm going to check it out - keep going," she yelled and ducked out of the chaos and into the considerably quieter and clear-aired office as Colby and David pushed onwards. When at last she blinked away the remaining dust from her eyes and took a look around, gun at the ready, she froze, horrified at what lay before her.

They were too late.

* * *

Even before he had heard Don walk into his office, subsequently being knocked out and bound to his desk, Charlie had been almost entirely certain of his fate, and had on some level accepted it - death for him had become inevitable, something that had probably been bound to happen since his fluke of an escape two days previous. So really, what point was there in fighting it? Why give his executor the satisfaction of fear, pleads for his life to be spared when they both knew that none of it would make a difference? 

The gun to his head, he'd been able to deal with. After all, he was already dying, and slowly at that; why be afraid of a faster route? He'd been unprepared however for the words that had been launched at him, cutting him like a thousand knifes, all aimed at his heart, and doing far more damage than any fist or bullet could have possibly done. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Don's angry, defensive words on his behalf had registered but overall were drowned out by the constant accusations that took far too long to stop. Once they had, all that was left was the sound of his heart racing in his ears, his sparse breaths, and the far off-sounding murmurs that he didn't even try to understand; even when he felt something pressed up against his shoulder, and the murmuring got closer, he didn't bother looking up, not really caring to know what was going on, just wishing that it would hurry up and be done with, no matter what it was.

He could hear Don talking in spurts, and realized in the back of his mind that he must be talking with someone on the phone, but for the life of him he couldn't think of who it could be. Eventually, the sound of muffled footsteps trailed out of the room, after which there was a brief grating sound that sounded like something heavy being dragged, followed by Don's voice once more. He had forced himself to pay attention to what was being said, and had obeyed his brother's plea, trying his best to hide any fear when he looked up, for Don's sake, and knowing right away by the look on his older brother's face that he had failed miserably. At that moment, Don had asked if he trusted him, a question that brought with it a swell of jumbled emotions, thoughts, memories... most of them from the past week. But, no matter how bad the things were that he felt or remembered, he kept on coming back to the same answer, an answer born of years of working and living together: _yes_.

And so that was what he had told Don, speaking the word instead of simply nodding even though he had known that that one word probably cost him a whole minute of breathable air. He had known without having to see the relief and trickle of happiness on his face that he had made the right decision, that Don had needed the reassurance of hearing his voice as much as he had needed reassurances of his trust in him. When Don had followed the question with the speech about help being on the way, that they were almost home free, and that he just had to hold on, he had even found himself beginning to believe that he just might be right. Not seeing the point in using up precious air twice, he had settled for nodding before closing his eyes again, trying for all he was worth to ignore the increasing burning in his lungs, as well as the fact that Don apparently refused to look away from him, insisting on watching him suffer.

_Why are you doing this to yourself Donnie?_

After that, the footsteps returned along with the voices, and left again soon after, leaving the room in a dead silence outside of his own breaths, becoming much shorter and harder to pull in with every minute. Again, Charlie could feel Don's eyes on him, and he knew what he had to say, and that he had to say it now; his head was light and fuzzing up, and when he opened his eyes to meet Don's gaze, he found that his vision was dimming rapidly around the edges, obscuring everything accept for the anxious look on his brother's face, and he sighed inwardly, knowing that this was by no means going to be easy for Don, even if he himself had accepted it.

There was something about Charlie's expression when he finally looked back up at him that was even more unsettling than it's previous blankness, something that made Don sit up straighter, stare at him more intently, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was.

"_Look... away_." Charlie's words drew a confused frown to his face.

"What're you talking about? Why would I look away?" Sadness mixed in with that emotion Don still couldn't place, making his heart pound harder in his chest, and he knew before Charlie could even gasp out his next words that he was _not_ going to like them.

"_Can't... let... watch..._" Don's mouth went dry as his mind spoke the full version of that sentence: _I can't let you watch me die_.

He started shaking his head, eyes wide with denial as he at last placed that look with a name: acceptance - Charlie had accepted his death, was silently telling Don that he couldn't hold on any longer; he was telling him that he knew it, and that he was trying to let Don off easy from his promise to him that they would be make it through this case.

_To _hell_ with easy._

"No," he replied firmly, ignoring his burning eyes and the ache in his neck as he stubbornly shook his head again. "_No_. I'm not looking away Buddy - I won't leave you alone again. _I can't_."

He could see that his little brother was really struggling now, hardly able to even hold his head up and his eyes open with all the effort that was going into finding air for his lungs to breathe. Even so, no matter how hard it must've been, Charlie kept his eyes focused on his, the hint of a sad smile on his lips.

"_Take care... of Dad... love... both... of you._" Even knowing that saying those words cost him what little had been left of his air, it didn't matter - he'd said what he'd needed to say, and it had been more than worth it.

Gunshots sounded out in the hall, turning quickly into a constant roar of defensive and offensive fire that went ignored by the office's occupants, Don watching with mounting horror as Charlie's chest tremored violently and he looked sadly at Don one last time before he scrunched his eyes shut and turned his suffocating body to the side, away from Don, curling into a tight ball and deliberately hiding his face from view. The action made Don sob out loud; to the very end, all that either of them seemed to care about was protecting the other from heartache - Don had failed in that area hardly a few hours ago, where Charlie was now trying to succeed... and there was nothing that Don could do to stop it.

The burning in his lungs reached a crescendo, consuming his every thought so that the noise from the gunfight out in the hall faded into a dull roar, and he couldn't feel his hands' death grip on the pipe they were cuffed to. Then suddenly, the burning began to fade, dissipating until only numbness was left. His once racing heart slowed to a depleting thrum, and though it seemed logical that such a thing should make him scared, he felt only exhaustion, and gradually his struggles ceased, his hands going limp in their bonds.

He remembered predicting with absolute certainty when he'd first been attacked that night that he wasn't going to survive this time around, and as the beating in his chest slowed to a crawl before stopping all together, he found for the first time in his life that he hated a prediction of his being proven right.

* * *

_TBC_


	14. When the End Comes

**A/N:** hello all! i have returned :) - and this time, i've brought with me the last chapter...

as sorry as i am that it's over, i can't even begin to say how glad i am that i managed to finish the darn thing before i had to celebrate it's friggin one year anniversary:S

needless to say, i have decided that from now on, i'll do it the way i use to: i'll write the entire fic, or at least half of it, before i start friggin posting - that way, no matter what happens to make my life crazy busy, i'll always have a chapter ready to post :) -- on that note, i'll also say that i've got three more Numb3rs fics in progress, two of them solid whumping/drama/angst/adventure fics and the third being one whose plot was emailed to me by a reviewer named Cole, who will be getting most of the credit for it if i manage to do a good job :P

so anyway, without further ado, read and enjoy, and as always please don't forget to review :)

**A/N2:** for Curtisbrothersfan: so sorry that i missed your fifteen day deadline :P -- i hope the chapter itself makes up for the 6 extra days :D

**A/N3:** i actually posted this chapter a few days ago, but it keeps on beeing an idiot and randomly deciding to not show up, so i'll keep deleting and reposting until hopefully the friggin thing sticks.

* * *

**Chapter 14 - When the End Comes**

During the daytime, and when there wasn't shrouds of plaster dust filling the air, this hall had always seemed rather short, one of the shortest in the building in fact. However, right then, both Colby and David would have sworn in court, under oath, that this was by far the longest damn hall in all of Los Angeles. With how painstakingly little progress they'd made in catching up with the shooters, this slow-going pursuit seemed more than a little pointless; both felt as though they would've been more useful back with Megan, or even going back down to the main floor to wait for and direct the back-up that was due to arrive any minute now. However, every lesson on procedure and priority that had been driven into their skulls from day one of FBI training told them that it was their job and obligation to go after and secure the bad guys, preferably without having to wound or kill them.

_'Shooting these jokers is starting to sound like a damn fine idea,'_ Colby grumbled in his head as he took another turn at running past David to the next doorway. He'd already had more than his share of close calls, feeling the breeze and hearing the faint whistle of bullets speeding past right next to his head, and needless to say, he was very ready for this to be done.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem as though that was going to happen as the two agents finally caught sight of the end of the hallway, as well as the open emergency exit door, the staircase beyond it leading back down to ground level and to the parking lot. Swearing under his breath, Colby made sure David was right behind him and at the ready before stepping into the stairwell, gun out front as he quickly scanned the large landing before hearing the pounding of feet on the stairs bellow them.

As they ran down the steps after them, neither needed to mention that with the head start the gunmen had on them, they were obviously going to make it outside long before them, and if they did, that would spell almost certain defeat as chances were their car was parked close enough to the exit for them to make a speedy getaway. And if that happened, the same vicious game of cat and mouse that had been going on all these months would begin again, the murders continuing in their district until the murderers finished there and moved on to their next targets elsewhere. The Eppes, having earned a place on that long list of targets, would never be safe, would never be able to return to their lives and some semblance of normalcy and happiness... and that was something that those who knew and cared for the small family could not let happen, not when they could still do something to stop it all that very night.

This in mind, Colby and David accelerated further, skipping four and five steps at a time in an effort to gain on the perps. Just when it seemed like they might be able to catch up, the slamming open of the door leading outside was heard, followed soon after by the sounds of car doors being slammed shut. Both their hopes sank then, as they realized with mounting dread that they weren't fast enough, that these men, after all their terrible crimes and after all the pain and suffering they'd brought down upon the Eppes this past week, they were going to drive off unharmed, free to do as they pleased until there was no one left alive from that faithful day at Murbarry Place.

However, just as they heard the car's engine turn over, the distinct sound of another engine reached their ears, the sound rushing closer and closer until the deafening explosion of the sound of metal impacting on metal rushed up to greet them. Exchanging a disbelieving glance, the two continued their downward progress, guns still at the ready as they finally reached the ground floor and stepped out of the stairwell into the cool outside air. The second their feet touched the pavement, they stopped to gape openly at the scene before them, hardly believing their eyes.

"Huh..." Colby said, his steady voice bellying the shock on his face. "Can't say I saw this one coming..."

* * *

Nightmares are usually something that should happen when you're asleep, warm and safe in your bed; nightmares are things that you normally should be able to wake up from, to escape back into the waking world where you can see that the terrors you were seeing weren't actually happening, that you and your loved ones were safe, happy and alive. 

Sitting there, tears streaming unabashedly down his face, Don found himself silently begging the powers that be to let him wake up from this nightmare; he wanted more than anything to return to the real world where he hadn't just watched his baby brother convulse from his body's efforts to pull in oxygen from the bag that was suffocating him, those efforts going unrewarded as seconds later his movements ceased, the white-knuckled grip he had on the pipe behind him going lax. In the seconds afterwards, an unrelenting coldness settled over him, his heart stuttering and accelerating its beats in his already battered chest to the point where it would have hurt had he been in the frame of mind to give a damn.

As it were, the only pain his mind allowed him to register was the kind born of the horror he was faced with now as he stared with wide, disbelieving eyes at the deathly still body of his little brother, spurred on by the much too vivid memory of his promise that nothing more would happen to them and the way Charlie had looked at him when he'd made it, that look on his face that said for him without words that he trusted Don above all else. After all, Don was his big brother, ever his protector, the one who knew what to do, what to say, the one who never made a promise he didn't know he could keep... until now. This time, he had made the promise, one that by all means he should have been able to keep... one that was beyond a shadow of a doubt the most important promise he'd ever made and ever could make... and he had failed to keep it, had failed his brother... and now his brother was dead.

"No..." he whispered, his voice barely audible above the continuous gunshots out in the hall. Without warning, a myriad of images flashed through his mind: the look on their father's face when he'd be forced to tell him that he had let Charlie die... the way Alan would tearfully try to assure him at Charlie's funeral that it wasn't his fault, while his eyes would betray his instinctual resentfulness at him for allowing their already miniscule family to be cut down to two...

A low, pain-filled moan slipped past his lips as he continued to stare at the by-product of his failure, his mind filled this time with memories of their lives together, all of the times he'd been there for Charlie and all the times he hadn't, all of the times he'd compliment Charlie on a job well done and pretend not to notice just how much his words obviously meant to the younger man, all of the talks they'd shared as adults, especially after the really tough cases, and all the things he wished he'd said to him when he'd had the chance...

"_No... no... no no no no no..._" He was sobbing out the word as a constant mantra, pulling harder at his restraints each time the word was spoken, eyes burning and blurring relentlessly until Charlie's body became an unrecognizable outline through the bitter tears he cried.

He didn't take notice of Megan's entrance or the look of abject horror that swamped her features as she took in the sight of the brothers, the youngest obviously dead with the airless bag over his head, the oldest dangerously close to a complete and violent breakdown as he continued to sob out the one word hysterically, pulling and straining forward, trying in vain to reach the motionless form that was curled up into a ball up against the radiator. She was still trying to choke back her emotions as she darted over to the desk Don was handcuffed to, taking a moment to scan the desk's surface where she found and snatched up the keys to the cuffs, eyes misting against her will all the while.

Only when she dropped down next to him, about to uncuff him, did he realize she was there and he fixed her with a look of such complete despair and heartbreak that it took her breath away and left her frozen in place, unable to look away from his eyes, so expressive at that moment that they reminded her undeniably of Charlie's.

"_Megan... get these the hell off me... I need to help Charlie... _please_... he... he can't breathe..._" Ignoring the sound of her heart shattering, Megan bit her lip and tearfully nodded as she quickly unlocked the cuff closest to her. The second the cuff was open, Don shot over to Charlie's side, followed closely by Megan who undid Charlie's cuffs with shaking hands, helping Don to uncurl his body and lay him gently on his back before ignoring the duck tape and simply tearing through the bag over his head.

It was more than she could take, gazing down at the youngest brother's lax, ghostly white features, his lips tinged blue and parted slightly from when he'd taken his final breath, and she could feel moisture making tracks down her face to drip onto his. She lifted a hand to place on Don's shoulder in comfort, but the frantic man, after failing to find a pulse, had moved around and positioned himself on his knees next to Charlie's chest, one hand over the other as he bent over him and began powerful compressions in the center, just under his ribcage. Deciding to humor him, and almost daring to believe for herself that they could still save him, Megan swiped away her tears and knelt next to Charlie's head, using the index finger and thumb of one hand to pinch his nose shut while she periodically leaned down and forced a breath of air into his lungs after each set of five compressions. The longer this process went on however, the more her optimism began to disappear, and she forced herself to continue aiding in CPR while she waited for Don to accept the terrible fact that nothing more could be done, bracing herself for the reaction that would come when he did.

"_Come on Charlie, you can do it - fight for me... Goddamnit... you can do this - don't give up on me now..._ "

His choked mutterings yeilded no response but he was beyond caring. Don didn't feel the ache that was rapidly traveling up through his arms and into his shoulders as he continued his compressions, his eyes now squeezed shut, even though the image of his brother's lifeless body was already burned into his mind's eye. He forced himself however to ignore the persistent wail that was echoing through his mind, telling him that it didn't matter what he did, that Charlie was dead, and he was never coming back.

_One... two... three... four... five... Breathe..._

It came down to the fact that there was no way he could bring himself to stop, to admit to himself that it was a done deal and that what he was doing now was too little, too late - he very simply refused to accept that Charlie would never smile or laugh again, that his eyes would never light up again when he figured out the answer to a tough problem he'd been working on, that he would never again be there waiting for him when he walked into his childhood home after a stressful day at work, wouldn't be there to distract him from his darkest thoughts with quirky analogies and a contagious carefree air radiating off of him.

_One... two... three... four... five... Breathe..._

He couldn't be gone... he just couldn't - he'd just barely turned thirty... he hadn't even gotten around to getting married, having children, solving P vs. NP... there was too many important things left for him to do; he couldn't die... he wasn't _allowed_ to die - it was far too soon for such a brilliant mind, such a unique person to simply be snuffed out like this.

_One... two... three... four... five... Breathe..._

"Don..." He blatantly ignored her and the sorrow in her voice.

_One... two... three... four... five... _

"Don... stop." His teeth grinded together, but he refused to stop long enough to glare at her.

"No."

_One... two... three..._

She'd reached over with both hands to seize his, pulling them up and slightly away from Charlie's still motionless chest and succeeding momentarily in bringing his efforts to a halt and drawing his blindly determined gaze. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, slowly shaking her head.

"He's... he's gone, Don. Stop." Her voice was pleading, and for a second it looked as though he might actually listen as his shoulders slumped a little, some of the tension leaving them. His defeat was short-lived, however, as a second later he tore his hands out of her grasp and straightened up again, repositioning himself, hands starting up compressions once more.

"_There's no way in hell I'm giving up on him that easily Megan_," he snapped, pushing down with even more fervor, breathing heavily at the exertion being put on his still healing body. "_Now are you going to help me, or not_?"

With a resigned sigh she moved back over to Charlie's face trying her best to ignore the hopelessness of the situation as she continued to force air into his body. No prayer in existence could have covered just how desperately she was hoping Charlie would come through this, as much for Don's sake as his own.

He threw himself into his efforts, pushing down for all he was worth for almost two full extra minutes before the ache in his arms became too much for him to ignore, and he gradually slowed down, though still refusing to stop until at last his hopes began to drain out of him, sapping his energy to the point where he had no other choice but to stop. With a strangled cry he sat back, wrapping his arms around himself protectively as wave upon wave of sorrow crashed down over him, smothering him, and he couldn't even hear Megan's tearful attempts at comfort as he squeezed his eyes shut, hunching forward in her loose embrace.

Only one thing broke through the grief, hitting him with such a force that he swore his own heart stopped beating: a cough - it was small and weak, but he was sure he'd heard it.

Quickly he pulled away from Megan, turning wide, insanely hopeful eyes to Charlie just in time to see his head loll slowly to the side his eyes scrunching as he coughed again, the cough turning into a fit as he struggled to pull air into his previously starved lungs, rolling onto his side and curling up halfway.

"_Charlie_," he whispered shakily. "_Charlie._" He found that was the only word his stunned and overjoyed mind could conjure, but it was enough. When at last the coughing subsided and he was able to suck in a full, albeit shaky breath, his eyes slowly opened and wandered up to focus on Don's tear-stained face. He swallowed carefully before trusting his voice to speak.

"_Don... please tell me it's over_." Don looked over at Megan for confirmation and she nodded, figuring that the newfound silence in the hall meant that the boys had caught up with their gunmen. Turning back to Charlie, he smiled, fully and genuinely.

"It's over Charlie." Returning the smile, at first cautiously, it gradually spread across his still pale features and, with enormous effort, he managed to push himself up into enough of a sitting position to latch onto Don in a hug, one which was returned whole-heartedly, Don wrapping both arms around him tight enough to hold him up, clutching him to himself as though he would never let go.

* * *

When they'd first pulled up in front of the Cal Sci math building, arriving right after a long line of cars no doubt driven by the back-up that Megan had told him about, he'd been more that a little aggravated when he'd been told to wait for them outside in his car while they joined the other tactical teams in suiting up and running inside. Even as he grudgingly returned to his vehicle, closing the door and slumping back in the driver's seat, the father side to him refused to acknowledge the logic behind him needing to stay out of the line of fire and away from the danger - as far as he was concerned, those were his boys up there, and he should be with them, plain and simple. 

It didn't help at all that Alan could clearly hear the constant barrage of gunfire coming from an upper floor, no doubt Charlie's floor, and he sat there, knee bobbing up and down, fingers drumming impatiently and nervously on the steering wheel as his eyes roamed all over the outside of the building, trying to come up with something to distract himself with while he waited. As the minutes ticked by, he found his impatience growing to the point where he was ready to ignore the possibilities of catching a bullet, just charging in there and ending this thing himself.

"What in the world could possibly be taking so long?" he wondered out loud to himself, chewing absently on his thumbnail as he continued staring out his windshield at the side of the building where he'd been forced to park almost a hundred feet away. 'Just as a precaution' they'd said, and had run off too quickly for him to be able to come up with a viable excuse to get a little closer, leaving him silently fuming. After all, focusing on being angry was a much better idea than sitting there and contemplating just how serious the situation was, thinking about just how bad off his sons might be at that very moment and wondering just what they were going through while he was just _sitting there_, unable to do anything to stop it.

He blinked and noticed that his hands had wrapped themselves so tightly around the wheel that his fingers had gone numb, and forced himself to relax his grip, taking deep, calming breaths.

"Easy Alan," he whispered, trying to placate himself. "No use in getting worked up about it - just sit tight, and it'll be over before you know it, and you can drag those boys home and fuss all you like. Just stay c-"

With his window open, the loud bang coming from the side of the building in front of him startled him, making him cut himself off and focus on the door that had been launched open, watching numbly as two masked men toting guns darted outside, sprinting over to a car that had been parked close by, the driver's side door facing Alan's position. It took hardly more than a second for his mind to register that these were the men behind all the suffering and grief his sons had endured along with the dozens of other families that had been destroyed, that these men had killed so many and, if allowed to escape, would no doubt kill again... it took less than a second more for him to realize that his engine was still running.

Later on, he would admit that his plan hadn't been the most well thought through, but right then, it was the only option available to him, and one that he had no intention of ignoring.

Without further thought, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator and sped across the space separating them, remembering halfway there to put on his seatbelt. He had just barely clicked it in place and braced himself for impact before the front of his car connected solidly with the driver's door in a bone-rattling crunch, and his upper body flew forward only to be bounced back as the airbag exploded in his face. The force behind it left him stunned even after he managed to pull himself back into a sitting position, doing his best to breathe normally despite the massive overload of adrenalin that had so quickly rushed through his system. After a moment of just sitting there, it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't come up with a second part to his plan, wherein he somehow dealt with the consequences of slamming into a mass murderer's car.

With a small gasp, his eyes shot back open and he would have attempted to stumble out of his car had a hand not reached through his still open window to grip his shoulder, making him jerk back in surprise.

"It's okay Mr. Eppes, it's me - Colby." Sagging in relief and letting his eyes close for another brief moment, he sat back in his seat and returned to the act of trying to calm down, responding only when he was sure his voice wouldn't shake.

"Colby... how many times am I going to have to tell you people to call me Alan?" A short laugh came from the man outside his door, and he reopened his eyes, turning his head to study the lingering look of shock on his face. "Is everything all right?" Incredulousness mixed in with his expression and he laughed again, shaking his head at him.

"Yeah, thanks to you, it looks like everything's just fine. Are _you_ all right? Are you hurting anywhere?" He thought about that for a moment, focusing all his efforts on pinpointing any pain, then shaking his head.

"I don't think so - I mean, aside from a sore face and neck, that is. I think credit for that can go to the initial hit, and the airbag that followed it." Colby nodded.

"Alright. I'm going to get you to stay still, just as a precaution - I called in a few ambulances, and they should be here pretty soon, so just sit tight until they can get here to check you out." Nodding in acknowledgement, Alan turned back to look out his windshield only to find that the spider webbing pattern of cracks prevented him from actually being able to see anything through it.

"What about them?"

"The guys whose car you hit?" He could hear the smile in Colby's voice and when he looked back, sure enough he bore a smirk. "David's got them covered. They're both in one piece - the driver's definitely going to need some patching up though." Alan swallowed hard at that, and the agent was quick to reassure him. "He's not too bad off, considering how hard it looks like you hit them. He'll definitely live, just long enough for him and his partner to go in for a lethal injection at least - it's about damn time, too."

Alan smiled grimly at that; he could not agree more.

-----

True to Colby's word, it wasn't long before ambulance sirens could be heard pulling onto the campus street, both vehicles coming to a stop near their position within a matter of minutes. After a quick examination, Alan was escorted from his car to the bumper of the nearest ambulance where he was given a more thorough once-over, watching all the while with morbid curiosity as Colby got into his ruined car and backed it up enough that the other set of paramedics could get to the unconscious driver in the other car. It still amazed him as much as it amazed Colby and David that he had actually done what he'd done and as he stared long and hard at the folded and crumpled front of his car, he was even more amazed that he hadn't injured himself much more than he had.

_Small mercies after a week of crap_, he thought to himself with a small, satisfied smile. He was more than happy to sacrifice his car for the greater good - that did not mean, however, that he was going to refuse David's offer of the FBI paying for the repairs; he was noble, but he wasn't stupid.

He let his gaze wander away from the scene he'd created and back over to the math building, wondering yet again what was taking so long in there. After all, if he just dealt with both attackers, who was left to be keeping his sons from leaving? Had there been more up there than just two? Was there still a chance that this wasn't over yet?

He'd hardly finished the thought when his eyes fell on the two people that had just stepped out of the still open emergency exit, carrying something between them. His breath caught in his throat as they came close enough for the streetlights to illuminate their faces, revealing the two people to be Don and Megan, working together to carry Charlie between them, whose eyes were closed, head resting limply on Don's shoulder. All but shoving the medic examining him out of the way, he rushed over to the trio as quickly as his somewhat unsteady feet could carry him.

"Don!" When his son looked towards him in response to his name being called, Alan felt his insides clench at the fresh tear tracks on his face, and he picked up the pace, reaching the group a second later and securing a grip on Don's shoulder, looking desperately from him to Charlie's unnervingly pale face. As though reading his mind, he offered a relaxed smile.

"It's okay Dad, we're okay." Confused, Alan looked back to his youngest who still hadn't opened his eyes.

"Then why...?" Don flinched slightly, something that didn't go unnoticed.

"He went to get up and... and I guess it was too fast after... what happened, and he kind of... passed out." His oldest's all too vague explanation earned the classic hands-on-the-hips and a raised brow.

"Care to elaborate on that?" Instead of answering, Don seemed to be scrutinizing his appearance.

"I'll make you a deal: I'll tell you every detail about what happened to us if _you_ tell _me_ why it is that half your face is bruised up..." He cast a glance sideways at the demolished front of their father's car, and the crushed in side of the car where paramedics were still attending to their Jersey Cop Killers. "...and how _that_ happened."

"Fine," he said, huffing a little as he led the way back to the ambulance he'd been sitting in. "As long as you and your brother get yourselves properly checked out, _tonight_." Don opened his mouth to object, but all conversation came to a halt when they reached the ambulance and a quiet voice spoke up between them.

"Hey Dad." His whispered words managed to make it to Alan over the din surrounding them and he turned to meet Charlie's bleary gaze, watching as his youngest's lips turned downward in a slight frown. "You all right?" He smiled down at him, brushing a few stray curls out of his face.

"I'm fine Charlie - I do believe the topic of choice is whether or not _you_ are." It was then that he noticed the band of duck tape wrapped around his throat, shreds of a torn plastic bag still hanging from it, and his eyes wandered over Don's and Charlie's wrists to find them both with matching dark ring bruises around them._ I'm almost afraid to ask._

"I'm good - just got up too fast, or something," Charlie mumbled, some color finally returning to his cheeks in the form of a blush. At this, Don smirked.

"No worries Chuck, we'll get you fixed up in no time," he said softly as he and Megan carefully deposited him on the stretcher that the paramedics had brought out. For once, Charlie had no objections to the nickname, simply nodded tiredly and allowed himself to be poked and prodded, wanting nothing more than to go home.

* * *

By the time they were finally driving down their street with Colby in his car, all three Eppes men having agreed that none were in the condition to be driving themselves, Charlie was fast asleep up against the window beside him and Don wasn't far behind on his window where he'd been staring blankly out at the passing traffic all the way back from Cal Sci. Sitting up front after deciding that his sons could use the space to relax, Alan turned around in his seat and smiled at the image of the two of them together like that. However, when he remembered the story that Don had told him of their brief period as hostages, and of how Charlie had died of suffocation right in front of him and had had to be resuscitated by himself and Megan, the smile fell from his face and he was reminded none-too gently that their survival had come with a price, and it was one that would take a long while yet for them to finish paying. 

"Alan, we're here." Colby's voice startled him back to the present and he blinked, looking out the windshield at the house that he'd left hardly three hours earlier, almost unable to believe just how much had happened since then, especially since earlier that afternoon. Don had yet to tell him how it was that Charlie had ended up at Cal Sci by himself and open to an attack, but judging by the sudden silence and the way he'd averted his gaze to the ground when he'd tried to ask him while he was being looked after, Alan figured he would probably never get a straight answer to that one.

With a long sigh, Alan followed Colby's example of climbing out of the vehicle, closing his door before moving back to Charlie's and rapping lightly on the glass with his knuckles. He jerked upright in response, blinking rapidly to try and clear his vision as Alan opened his door and offered his hand to help him up and out. Smiling wearily in thanks, he accepted the hand up with his own uninjured one, allowing Alan another clear look at the nasty looking bruise encompassing his wrist, put there from his struggles against handcuffs. Luckily, the other wrist had been left in its brace and had avoided further damage, but the one that hadn't been so lucky looked as though it had the potential to ache mightily by the next morning.

"When we get inside, maybe you should get some ice on that," he said, giving the bruise a pointed look. Charlie followed his gaze and swallowed hard, looking quickly away to avoid thinking about just how that bruise got there.

"Good idea," he said and walked next to Alan up to the door, Colby and Don following closely behind.

Once inside, Alan instructed Charlie to get settled on his bed-couch in the living room while he went to get him some ice and something to drink, then he retreated into the kitchen where Don and Colby had settled tiredly on the stools next to the counter, each silent and staring determinedly at the countertop, no doubt replaying the night's events and wondering how it was that things had spun so out of control to begin with. Eyeing the pair for a moment, Alan moved over to open the freezer.

"Coffee anyone?" Both grunted a 'yes', and so he removed the beans and closed the freezer door again, busying himself with the act of preparing it and retrieving three mugs from the cupboards for the three of them, and a bottle of water from the fridge for Charlie. It was Colby who finally broke the silence, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the tension in a very Don-like manner.

"Well, David and Megan went back to the office to keep on doing the background checks on the family members of the deceased hostages from Murbarry Place, but so far it's looking like the two guys that were at Cal Sci were the last of 'em; they were the only two guys David and I had red-flagged before, and we'd actually gotten through the bulk of the list."

"Did you find out where these guys were operating from?" Don asked as he sipped slowly at the steaming cup that had been placed in front of him.

"The crime scene techs found a receipt for the down-payment on a motel room for the month - your bodyguards, York, Wyatt, Randall and Powel were heading the raid on the room. As far as I know, they didn't find anyone else in there, and there was no evidence to support there being more than three perps."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that," Alan commented as he took a sip from his own mug before heading back to the freezer to grab the ice pack for Charlie's wrist. "I'll sleep a lot better tonight knowing that there's no danger of another attempt on all our lives." Colby looked up at him seriously.

"All the same, I've called in a favor to make sure that a couple of our guys will be outside for the next few days, just to be safe."

"That's good news," Don said with an appreciative nod. He took one last gulp from his cup before standing and heading for the door that led back out into the dinning room. "I'm gonna go let Charlie know." Despite his exhaustion, he managed to leave the room in just three strides, somewhat excited at the prospect of being able to give his brother some good news at last.

"I'll come with you," came his father's voice, and a second later he was joined by Alan who was carrying the water and ice, and by Colby who was headed for the front door.

"I'm going to go give the other two a hand. Even if they already finished the background checks, there's gonna be a mountain of paperwork after all this," he said, and Don frowned slightly in sympathy.

"Don't worry - I'll come in tomorrow to help you guys out." Even before Alan could protest to Don working in his condition, Colby shook his head firmly.

"No way, Eppes. You were on medical leave before, and now you're on medical _and_ stress leave after tonight's little encounter, so even if you somehow managed to slip past your dad here, lobby security at the office will be instructed to not let you go up." He said the last part with a satisfied grin and was out the door and headed back to his car before Don could put together a descent objection.

More than a little indignant that he was being subjected to limitations like some sort of invalid, and was in for another round of babysitting by his father, Don turned away from the sound of Colby's car backing out of the drive and headed into the living room, ready to spill what they'd learned to Charlie only to be greeted by the sight of an empty couch. Instinctually both of their stomachs did little flips before they could remind themselves that the week's trials and dangers had ended, and the fact that the youngest Eppes wasn't here simply meant that he'd gone to another part of the house, most likely on the first floor considering his trepidation involving the second floor.

Walking together into the hallway, they would have continued on right past the stairs leading up had they not simultaneously spotted the light coming from the next floor, from one room in particular. They exchanged a surprised glance, and with no shortage of apprehension, the two climbed the steps and right away spotted Charlie standing motionless in the beam of light coming through the doorway to his bedroom, face blank and impassive, eyes staring unblinkingly at something inside. A soft pat on his arm drew his gaze back to meet their father's, one that radiated understanding of a situation that clearly needed to be discussed first between brothers before moving to include him as well.

"I'll be in the kitchen cleaning up," he said, handing Don the water bottle and ice pack he still held. "Call if you need me."

And with that he turned and went back downstairs, leaving Don to take a deep, hopefully confidence-inducing breath before walking down the hall, coming to a stop beside his younger brother. Once there, he realized it was what he had figured it would be: the thing he was staring so intently at was the space on his floor that had, a few days earlier, housed the body of the man he'd accidentally killed in his fight to stay alive. It struck him as sadly ironic how Charlie was so deeply horrified with what he'd done by accident when the man he'd done it to would have intentionally done worse to him without thinking twice about it.

"I could probably stand here all night, and still not be able to take one single step into this room." The flat tone to Charlie's voice had Don worried even more than he'd been when he hadn't said anything at all, serving to solidify his feeling that it would take a lot of talking things through to get their lives back to some version of normal. He was about to open with the now well worn phrase stating that what had happened wasn't his fault when he spoke again, the newly arrived bitterness surprising him as much as his words. "After all, I've played the avoidance card just as often with smaller events. Take the shooting at your office, for example: an event that was not even targeting me directly and lasted hardly a minute, and I avoided that place like the plague for days afterwards." He shook his head, not looking away from that spot. "I gotta say Don, if bravery is genetic, it looks like you inherited all of it long before I came around."

"Hey," he said, crossing his arms carefully across his middle and waiting until Charlie looked at him before continuing. "I'm not as brave you'd think." His declaration earned him a disbelieving snort. "No, seriously, hear me out: what you see as me being brave is just me with my game-face on - it's an attitude that's taken years to perfect, and in the beginning, it took so much out of me to turn it on and off depending on whether I was on the job or at home that eventually I just didn't bother turning it off any more. So basically every time I get up in the morning, that game-face is the first thing I put on, and whenever I go to sleep, it's the last thing to come off. What I'm trying to say is that I get scared just like you Charlie... but it's become my job to hide it, and to not let myself stay away from places or things that scare me, no matter how much I want to..." He trailed off and he stood there chewing nervously on his lip, uncertain as to whether or not that had come out as clear as he'd needed it to.

For a long moment, Charlie simply stared at him, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Then, much to Don's relief, a small, shy smile worked it's way across his face which had thankfully regained much of it's color by then.

"Really?" The question was quiet, unsure, that thoughtful look having turned into one that clearly showed just how badly he needed to not be alone in what he was feeling. Don returned the smile.

"Really," he said softly, and watched happily as Charlie's tense posture relaxed a little and he didn't return to staring at the spot that had been thoroughly scrubbed free of any and all physical evidence of Friday's events.

When the younger man tried unsuccessfully to hide a yawn behind his wrist brace, the agent took the opportunity to reach in and flick off the light, after which he steered Charlie into his old room down the hall.

"Here, you can have my bed for the night - small steps, Charlie," he reminded when he saw him glance back solemnly at his own bedroom. "Just by coming up here in the first place, you've already proven you can get past this, you just need to give yourself time." His quiet reassurance was rewarded with another smile before his baby brother collapsed, gently of course, onto the unmade bed, not caring that he was still in his jeans as he pulled the blankets tight around himself.

"Where..." Another yawn, this one longer. "Where are you gonna sleep?"

"I'll take the floor to your right," he said, turning off the overhead light and depositing the ice and water on the dresser before spreading his spare blanket on the floor next to the bed and snagging one of his pillows. A small grunt was the only indication of pain he gave as he lay down, doing his best not to shift around too much. After all, his ribs had had to be re-set for the third time in less than a week, so it stood to reason they'd be a little on the sensitive side.

"You sure you're okay down there?" Charlie's voice was so faint by then that Don could tell he was already half-asleep, and his smile broadened a little.

"Yeah, I'm sure - go to sleep, we'll talk more in the morning."

A contented sigh floated down from amidst all the blankets and pillows, followed by such a long stretch of silence that Don thought he'd finally fallen asleep. Then, just as he was starting to drift off as well, a quiet but undeniably lucid voice brought him back awake.

"Love you Don." A slight shiver went down his spine as those words brought him back to those last agonizing minutes in Charlie's office, but he pushed it aside without hesitation - it was over now. For all intents and purposes, he had 'woken from the nightmare and returned to the real world' - his family was safe, as happy as they could be considering, and _alive_. Right at that moment, he had everything he could ever want.

With a light heart, he wrapped himself in his blanket, and closed his eyes, whispering his response through the comfortable silence.

"Love you too Buddy."

* * *

_The End_

* * *


End file.
